


Flicker Fade Flare

by Okadiah



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It, Fun in the Quantum Abyss, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Slow Burn, So much angst, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 119,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25560076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okadiah/pseuds/Okadiah
Summary: Five thousand years after the Galra Empire destroyed Altea and rose to power, exiled and traitorous Prince Lotor - leader of the Blade of Marmora - is captured and left to Haggar’s ‘tender’ mercies until a certain Altean princess finds and frees him five thousand years later.OR(AU where Lotor’s actions are less questionable, Haggar is extra horrible, and the end of season 6 and beyond will never happen)
Relationships: Allura/Lotor (Voltron)
Comments: 145
Kudos: 169





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> So I've been sitting on this story for a really long time now. I wrote it as a friend's housewarming gift (this is exceedingly late) and I figure if I didn't start sharing it now then I might not share it at all. And seeing as how the entire story is drafted and just needs editing, it's in prime condition for posting.
> 
> A few things before we start. I plan to post a chapter every Monday so that's when you can expect updates. This story references A LOT of trauma. I was not kind to Lotor. But like I said, most of it is referenced because the heart of this story is all about recovery, and that'll really become apparent not long after Allura is introduced. Just in case, chapter-specific tags will be mentioned before each chapter as needed (though please let me know if I've missed any).
> 
> For now, I think that's it. I hope you enjoy! It's a ride.

Lotor had been aware of the trap before setting foot in High Priestess Haggar’s secret vault, and yet he’d continued the mission anyway. It would be his only chance to retrieve the relic — the only lead after centuries searching — and everyone on the mission had understood the risk. They’d volunteered, eager for even a sliver of possibility that they might one day wrestle the universe back from the merciless clutches of his father. After all, that was what he’d created the Blade of Marmora for. Stop Zarkon. Find a path to peace and right so many wrongs, somehow.

And this had been the way. Even if the trap might spring successfully and he was captured – which it had and he was. But not before he’d seized his prize and sent it away with his most trustworthy Blades.

Unfortunately, his capture had come with a swift loss of consciousness. All he’d hoped for while he’d been crammed in his cell for transport was that the others had made it out. That somehow the relic was with the Blade, safe and waiting for someone to finally find the path to the future. Even if it wouldn’t be him.

Regardless of what became of him, Lotor was proud of his accomplishments and the work he’d done to fight his father and the Empire. Measures that would one day undermine _everything_ Zarkon had ever done, even if it didn’t completely right them. He would do whatever it took to protect that future, _whatever it took_. And if it meant he wouldn’t live to see tomorrow, he’d at least die with his pride, his honor, and his integrity.

The future was too important for anything less.

No matter the strict silence taken by his guards, he knew where they were taking him — there would only ever _be_ one place. He’d closed his eyes as the ship had docked, and he relived the sensation to the tiniest detail, even after so long away. Everything about the Galra and the Galra Empire was the same no matter where in the universe, but there was always something special, something specific about Zarkon’s stronghold. It might have been ingrained familiarity that even time could not steal or a primal instinct fueled by still sharp memories of terror.

As he controlled his breathing, felt the energy in his body – energy which existed all around him that he’d, _at last_ , learned to harness even the fraction he had – Lotor knew it was not familiarity or the creep of the past. Not with corrupted quintessence all but leaking from the very air itself.

To his surprise, he didn’t have to wait long. Not even a tick after they had docked, his guards hustled him through secret passageways he hadn’t known existed despite a childhood covertly unlocking his home’s deepest secrets. In truth, it worried him.

It wasn’t like his father to be so clandestine. Not like this. Zarkon was a man of action. One who enjoyed cruelly displaying an unfortunate’s failure and weakness before publicly destroying them, and prince or not he shouldn’t have been an exception. No, secrecy was not Zarkon’s way, but it _was_ like someone he knew.

It was not a comforting thought.

Soon enough he was shoved into a room he was intimately familiar with, given its cavernous size, windows of strengthened glass, and the long, imperious walkway leading directly to an unyielding throne. Emperor Zarkon’s Great Hall.

And there, at the end, Zarkon sat like a nightmare from his childhood, watching him with eyes Lotor half expected could kill.

It had been four thousand deca-phoebs since his exile. Four thousand deca-phoebs since he’d last seen his father directly. Four thousand deca-phoebs for Lotor to slowly grow into himself and become a being of equal strength and equal right.

Lotor resisted the urge to swallow, even as his heart raced in his chest. His cheeks felt cold and his palms were damp beneath his gloves. It was true Lotor had grown in strength and right.

But Zarkon had as well.

His father hadn’t moved and yet Lotor’s guards shoved him forward as if they’d been verbally ordered, and Lotor refused to let his fear show in any way. He refused to give Zarkon the satisfaction.

Soon he was before the Emperor. Lotor glowered thunderously, vowing to maintain his silence. Force his father to be the first to speak. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem Zarkon cared. He took his time, studying Lotor as if he were gaging filth, but filth he was forced to deal with himself.

At least Lotor gained some satisfaction from that.

Finally, his father deigned to speak. “I imagine you believed that should you ever be caught, no matter the manner or reason, your execution was assured.”

Lotor scowled. “Is it not?”

“It is,” Zarkon growled, unnatural glowing eyes narrowing. “Your death is assured, traitor, make no mistake. But a quick death, let alone a humiliating one, is too good for you.”

His father stood and stepped toward him, and although nothing moved, Lotor felt as if the floor shook beneath the Emperor. Relentlessly he forced himself to remain exactly where he was, to ignore the small child that still dwelled deep within his heart and feared this terrifying being. Lotor stood firm, even if his sharp claws dug into his palms hard enough to pierce.

When Zarkon stopped before him, towering and massive, Lotor stared up defiantly. “How unlike you to play games.”

Lotor expected the pain and was only momentarily dazed when a gauntlet-encased hand struck him across the face. He staggered, almost stumbling over, but caught himself. Blood filled his mouth and the metal taste of it was grounding.

“Well. That hasn’t changed.”

“And neither has that mouth of yours.”

It amazed Lotor that while he could stand valiantly in front of the powerful mountain that was his father, what made him flinch and freeze – even for the briefest moments – was the shadowy chill that always came with the slight yet boundlessly cruel witch.

He should have known what was coming next. Somehow it always caught him off guard.

Lotor screamed before pitching forward to his knees as purple lightning assaulted him. It raced across every nerve, tore into every muscle, and by the time it was over he was left gasping as the scent of his charred flesh filled his nose and the energy in his body struggled to right itself.

“Remember who you speak to, boy,” High Priestess Haggar scolded. “You are in disgrace, but you were once a prince. Know your place.”

“My place,” Lotor chuckled bitterly once he felt some semblance of normalcy, even if his heart still thundered violently. “It has never been with you, or your Empire.” Anger roared through him and the vicious force of his Galran and Altean heritage rose. “It is with the people, and with everyone who dreams of peace and the day your reign ends.”

He was prepared this time for the pain, though not for the duration. When the lightning came he clenched his teeth hard enough to crack, determined to maintain his dignity. To hold his stance. But the lightning didn’t let up, and despite his best efforts his screams once again filled Zarkon’s Great Hall. She was going to kill him – this _would_ kill him. The waves of pain kept coming. The agony didn’t end. He couldn’t go on. A primal fear solidified, despite his attempts to keep it under control.

Lotor reacted.

With a new scream of desperation, he reached for his Altean abilities, grasping at quintessence and moving entirely by instinct. He threw every bit of his will into making the lightning _stop_. Toward disrupting her quintessent lightning with a pure barrier of his own.

It worked. Or, at least, he thought it had when the lightning stopped like a blessing, leaving him on all fours desperate for breath. But when he looked up, he saw the witch wasn’t furious.

Haggar, the High Priestess of the Druids, was smirking. And in that moment Lotor’s chest turned cold as he realized he’d fallen into yet another trap of her making.

“I’d suspected as much. It seems you might finally be of use to the Galra Empire.” Haggar’s skeletal fingers gripped his chin and forced his face upward to meet her penetrating gaze. “We’d thought the only place for you was in the gladiatorial pits, but now that it appears you’ve tapped into latent Altean abilities, perhaps there’s an alternative.” She dug her nails into his cheeks hard enough to make them bleed. When she spoke next, it was not to him but to his father. “And you’ll be pleased to know, my Emperor, that it is a fate far worse than he could possibly imagine.”

“I’m listening,” Zarkon said. The witch studied Lotor a moment longer before she threw his face away. Lotor felt as if he could breathe again without the weight of her putrid, corrupted energy smothering him.

“The wayward prince has always been fond of his Altean blood,” she said, and although Zarkon’s countenance darkened, he did not stop her. “It stands to reason that his new Altean abilities must be a point of pride for him.” From beneath her hood she made a face. “Pure and life-giving.”

She paused, but when she spoke next, Lotor could hear the smile in her voice. An eager pleasure-laced tone time had not dulled in the slightest. This was the same sound she made when she’d come up with another genuinely monstrous idea.

“With your permission, perhaps the prince’s usefulness can be salvaged. We’ve always believed that battle and pain would break him, but Prince Lotor is half-breed. And where one method will not work, surely the other will.” Her hood edged his way with a suddenness that made Lotor flinch and his blood ran thick with ice. “Give him to me. Perhaps I can train him to be something of worth.”

Her eyes glowed from within her hood, and Lotor understood where this was going. The very implication sent raw panic flaring throughout his body as a possibility he’d never once considered manifested in his near future. He’d prepared for and anticipated pain and physical torture. It was the Galra way. But what he suspected the witch had in mind terrified him more than anything Zarkon could conceive ever had.

“No!” Lotor shouted, unable to keep his composure when faced with something so grotesque. “Don’t!”

“Granted,” Zarkon said immediately, turning his back on them, cloak flowing. “If only because he clearly fears this when he has feared nothing else. Do with him what you will, witch. Make him useful or end him.”

“Of course, your Excellency. I will not fail you.”

Panic raced through Lotor’s blood and he struggled furiously against his bonds, but now two druids had manifested out of nothing to snatch at his body, binding him tightly.

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded, eyes flashing even as he reached for his Altean abilities. Like a gift, they flared to life, strengthening him, warding off the dark, corrupted quintessence which threatened to infect his own. Rage followed his panic, and in a flash of might he threw off the druids, breaking through his bonds as he screamed. “No!”

“Enough!” Haggar snarled, and the lightning was back, only this time his abilities were there to offer a barrier. He could still feel the pain, but it was muted. It gave him hope. Gave him strength. He could _do_ this, he just needed to hold out, escape, live. Make it back to the Blade, find Oriande, defeat Zarkon. He could—!

The High Priestess flickered and reappeared before him in a flood of black mist. Her hand shot out as fast as her lightning to wrap around his neck, brutally constricting while cutting through his meager barrier like it was nothing more than paper. Lotor struggled as he choked, focusing on his anger and not his mounting fear, but before he could wrap his own hand around her neck the lightning was back and stronger than ever. If he’d had breath in his lungs it would have taken it away.

When he could no longer twitch and was on the edge of consciousness she dropped him, letting him collapse in a limp pile at her feet. His breath was labored and his throat alight with pain. But he still found the strength to glower, however degraded it was. Lotor refused to let her take that from him, not when she was taking everything else.

“It would be wise to abandon your spirit and pride now,” she said coolly. “They’re worthless and will not save you. You will break.”

Despite what was about to happen to him, despite the fear he felt at what his future held, despite everything, if there was one thing Lotor was, it was stubborn. And although it likely came from his father, he hoped _desperately_ it came from his Altean mother instead.

“I will _never_ break, witch,” he swore with what little energy remained. His vision was clouding. He could hardly see anything of the dark figure, except her glowing eyes. “If you do this, you will one day reap what you sow.”

“Unlikely,” the High Priestess said as she stared down at him with cold, calculating eyes, a monster made real. “You should know. The mission that led to your capture, your allies? The ones you fought so hard to protect. They were killed. Whatever your plans, foolish boy, whatever reason brought you there, they were all for not. Useless. Just like you and everything you do.”

A flicker of heat was all that managed to kindle in his chest. She was lying. He’d sacrificed himself for his best Blades. There was no doubt in his mind that they’d made it out. This was just a mind game, one of many the witch had used on him before in his youth and would undoubtedly employ against him for as long as he was captive.

But he could not ignore the cold shard of doubt which fought the heat of his certainty.

“I will kill you, one day, witch,” he whispered, at last letting his hatred out. “Make no mistake. One day you will die, and it will be you looking up at me as you are now—”

Haggar sighed and shook her head.

“Something will need to be done about that mouth of yours. I refuse to spend even a moment more listening to nonsense.”

That was the last thing Lotor heard before agony seared his being once again, pushing him beyond his limit, and against his will darkness consumed him.


	2. Dumah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to change updates to Mondays and Wednesdays, which is why this chapter is early. The real story begins now, and this chapter is kind of brutal in a subtle way. Just a 'Day in the life of' but this life is not good. While I put him through a lot, I still hope you'll enjoy :]
> 
> Chapter specific tags/TWs: death of a child, beatings, psychological and physical torture, slavery

Dumah stood motionless in the darkness, eyes downward and collar released as he waited for what would come next. He was unarmed, his armor was dark but lightweight, highlighting his emaciated, sinewy form and painting him an enticing target if found. The hunger gnawed at him relentlessly. There hadn’t been a feeding in some time although it was nothing unusual. The High Priestess liked to deprive him. Push him past limits.

It made the feeding more effective.

Sounds on the other side of the massive quintessence-treated room alerted him to the appearance of his meal. He wondered how many there would be this time. One. Five. Ten. Twenty.

The number would hint at what the High Priestess had in store for him afterward, and he did his best not to hope for one thing over another. Not to crave at all, because craving did nothing but increase his suffering.

The hunger eviscerated him, allowing weakness to cling to his body and make his muscles shake and tremble. Still he resisted the urge to crave. Maybe this time he would control his urges. Maybe this time he would control his need.

Dumah thought this every time when – near mad with need – he was placed in this room with the unsuspecting prey chosen all for him. It was the faintest of hopes. One which barely existed given how many times he’d failed himself. Given how high his Number was.

He did not believe he would be successful, but he would try all the same.

The door on the other side of the room opened and all thought stopped as his tired, hungry, thin attention focused on what came out. He didn’t have to wait long.

A sentient creature unlike anything he’d ever seen entered, sporting the slave’s outfit and so many scars Dumah was unsure if it was the way his skin simply was or old wounds. It was a hulking figure, massive, with tusks that curved into deadly points and paws that appeared strong enough to tunnel under ice.

There was a massive knife in its hand and Dumah supposed it would be one of those matches. One meant to test him if he wasn’t careful. He wondered if this one had been promised that if he defeated the monster in the room, he’d be given his freedom. It was always a lie such as that, one designed to make them fight harder though it never mattered in the end.

The power of quintessence was at his fingertips, freed now that the collar was deactivated and the spell restraining his abilities was released. He could use quintessence freely now. Move and strike before his opponent even realized what was going on. It would be quick.

But he’d learned by now that although the collar was deactivated, the High Priestess demanded obedience. Besides, weak as he was, it was better to wait and see what else he might have to face rather than race into an unwitting trap and be overwhelmed. Such a strategy would get him nothing except more pain and trouble than all of this was worth. At least if he prepared, he’d be able to strike efficiently instead of dragging it out.

He might be a monster, but he didn’t want to be any more of one than he was.

“Where am I?” the creature demanded in a gritty voice, eyes searching the deep shadows. “What’s going on?”

Dumah ignored the creature when a high-pitched scream followed after, and a small humanoid female was thrown out onto her face. A girl. There were tears in her large pink eyes, and she looked thin and frail in the battered slave’s uniform that clung to her body. The door slammed shut behind her and she screamed again before slamming her fists on it, trying to get through.

The sight of her made him close his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to face a child here. It wouldn’t be the last. It did not mean he enjoyed it. She wasn’t even armed like the bigger creature was, and it was clear that she’d been nothing more than an afterthought. Another ploy to erode away what little soul he had left.

If Dumah could have spoken, he might have told anyone who would listen that there wasn’t anything left. But he doubted anyone would listen anyway.

The High Priestess’s gnarled voice swelled throughout the room.

“You have ten ticks.”

“What does that mean?” the creature bellowed, slicing the air with his knife, eyes furious and afraid. “Speak, witch!”

If it weren’t for the muzzle locking his jaw together, Dumah might have told the creature that the time limit wasn’t for itself, but for him. There was always a time limit the High Priestess enforced. A limit within which he must act or ….

He’d long since learned action was best.

Despite the deep weakness in his body and the way his thoughts frayed at the edges, Dumah moved, a plan in place. Ten ticks wasn’t much time and with the amount of energy he had left he needed to be precise. He could not afford to waste. He could not afford to move unnecessarily. He could not risk anything other than what was necessary.

He knew he would not resist his need, not when it screamed in his bones and was made worse by the antidote within his grasp, the last of his life clamoring to keep going. He’d done this too many times to know how it would inevitably play out.

Focusing, Dumah twisted space, flashing from where he’d been to a spot closer in an instant. The drain to his reserves was minimal but he could only afford to do it a few more times before he was completely out. He was closer now, much closer, and the creature still wasn’t aware of him.

Unfortunately, with nothing else to distract itself and a knife in its hand, the creature turned on the girl as it attempted to piece together a logical story based off its situation.

“What? You want me to kill her?” it bellowed, eyes wide with desperation, alive and with no conscience for murder. “Ten ticks to do it, right? Then you’ll set me free?”

The little girl shrieked and scrambled against the wall as if the motion would force it open and win her salvation when it never had for anyone in the past.

“Momma,” the girl cried, shrinking against the wall, body frozen with fear. “Let me out! Momma!”

The ticks were slipping away. There wasn’t much time to move but he found he didn’t need the time. The creature was going after the girl, operating under the assumed time-limit himself. It was running at the girl, knife raised, manic features on its face as twisted hope appeared in its eyes. It truly thought this was the way to save itself.

Dumah twisted space again and appeared behind it, pushing his shaking muscles hard as he summoned a flare of quintessent energy to begin the process. It sparked in his hand, coming to life, but the creature’s eyes hadn’t found him yet. They were focused on the girl. The high-pitched sound of her voice sliced into his ears, made them ache. The knife was descending and there was nothing in the world that would stop it from finding its mark.

Like a spark igniting, Dumah focused and the energy in his hand erupted, shooting out to latch onto the massive being before him.

Dumah drained the creature’s quintessence for all he was worth.

The creature screamed, its voice a howl of unequaled horror that Dumah had heard so many times he knew the sound like a most sinful song sung by a great majority of his Number. Inevitably, the creature’s energy flooded out of it, surging into Dumah in a way that was both horrifying and _so very relieving_. His body sang and rejoiced as energy it had been starved of for what must have been phoebs was replenished. With it, everything would be easier for a time. He would survive. He would be able to use the energy to heal himself, to move, to work, perhaps to do more, _be more_ —

Disgust raged through him, matching the relief as it always did. Reinforced the fact that he _was_ a monster. A sick tool and weapon for the High Priestess and her Emperor.

Both disgust and relief were too much for him, so Dumah banished both emotions and instead accepted the energy, funneling it into his dying cells, revitalizing them. Soon his muscles didn’t shake. The fatigue and cold ache of his bones and joints weren’t as strong or persistent. The hunger didn’t threaten to eat him alive.

He felt better and he resolutely focused on maintaining his numbed state rather than sink into the merciless self-hatred and agony he knew was waiting for later.

A weak, mangled, watery whine slipped into the air, and Dumah gazed down at the little girl. She stared at him with bleary pink eyes, all wide and filled with so much emotion and suffering.

The handle of the blade extended out of her chest, towering out of her prone body. He could see the faintest glint of silver from her back where the blade had gone all the way through.

As he’d suspected, as he’d known, the knife had finished its descent, finding its mark. It sat in her chest, large and obscene, an object that should not be there. Blood wept from her body where it had been impaled, a pool quickly forming below her. She didn’t have long. She would die.

Slowly he crouched down. The High Priestess’s voice lost all meaning as he stared into fading pink eyes.

“Please,” the girl whispered, small body shaking, tears in her eyes as she stared up at him in pain and fear, and another worse than the others. Desperate hope. “Please.”

Dumah wished she wouldn’t ask. He could not save her. Even if the knife hadn’t ensured an end to her life, she would have faced the same fate her tormentor had. Something far worse. Even now that he’d drained the quintessence from his opponent, found sustenance enough to function again, the desire to do the same to this girl dragged at him. The energy he’d acquired, it would fade soon enough. The more he could take now the longer he could go without another feeding.

His hand lifted, purple energy crackling in his palm. It would be quick. Not painless, it was never painless, but he could make it quick at least. He could do that.

Only … as he looked at the girl, he found he couldn’t do it at all.

It was the hope. No one had ever looked at him like that before. Not that he could remember.

His hand lowered as his decision solidified. He would not drain her. The only thing he could possibly give her was a pure death, one untainted and free of the trauma he could inflict in her final moments. She would die here before him, that was true, but at least she’d die with her quintess—

“Slave,” the High Priestess’s voice said, cutting through his thoughts and decisions like they’d never been there at all. “Feed.”

His mind was wiped clean, his body reacted, and he consumed her quintessence like a well-trained beast at the bidding of his master.

This … this was the other option, the one he’d attempted to avoid. He’d thought he’d had more time. That she’d die before the final tick, but he was the fool. After all, he’d been the one so lost determining what to do with her life that he’d forgotten for a moment about the High Priestess.

Dumah wished he could say he’d learn from this. That it would never happen again. But he’d vowed the same before countless times.

And somehow this _always_ happened.

He blacked out, but not really. It was as if his mind were cut from his body and it was just the creature the High Priestess had made it. He couldn’t quite see what was happening, just like he couldn’t control it. Time lost all meaning, but somehow there were still sensations. The blaze of new energy. The piercing scream as the pain tore at her. His body moving. His hands slick and warm.

Relief.

Dumah blinked, and just like that he was back within his traitorous body, granted control by the grace of the High Priestess. His hands were violet with blood and terror-filled pink eyes stared in eternal horror at him, lifeless but accusing.

He stared at her, felt the trickle of shame that welled up like a dying spring deep where it had been buried, and forced himself to add to his Number by not one, but two.

_Monster_ , he thought to himself as he stared at the girl’s corpse. _Weapon, slave, beast, creature, MONSTER._

Dumah hated himself.

Although he could never hear the High Priestess move, he felt her with his now heightened quintessent abilities. His prey’s energy flowed within him, strengthening him, and now that she was here, the feeding was finally over. He exiled the hate and the shame, clearing his mind and chest of emotions before rising from his crouch. Belatedly he realized his palm was wrapped around the handle of the knife that had impaled the girl. He couldn’t remember how it got there, and he should have been more disturbed by that, but he couldn’t let himself feel anything of the sort. Not when the High Priestess was here.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at him. “You hesitated.”

Dumah only stood before her, eyes lowered in deference and obedience and gaze dead as everything else within him. The violet blood on the knife dripped onto the floor to join the puddle congealing there.

The High Priestess’s judgement and disgust was palpable and Dumah waited for the familiar pain of punishment. It wasn’t outside of her behavior to correct him when he was made to drain a victim, but he hardly thought she’d waste the effort here like this. Not over a girl she’d thrown in as an afterthought.

“It matters not,” she said at last, though Dumah hardly believed this was the end of it. “The girl had so little quintessence it hardly matters. The beast was your primary target and you dealt with it as expected.”

She lifted a hand and Dumah ignored the way the innermost part of his body clenched. Nothing happened though, at least, nothing unexpected. He felt the familiar weight of his collar snap around his neck and spark to life. The spell within speared into him, and once again the feel of quintessence and his ability to manipulate it faded from pure energy to a dying, barely there buzz. Limited. Like this he could no longer twist space and move instantaneously. He could not attack with quintessence. He could not drain for more. He could not do anything. His abilities were under her control now that his chains were activated again.

None of him was his own.

“Drop that,” the High Priestess said, and Dumah’s fingers reacted immediately, releasing from around the knife. It fell to the ground with a clang and the girl’s blood rippled in response. He could make out the dark form of his body reflected there, glistening and indistinguishable. Horrific. Her body lay limp in the pool and Dumah couldn’t help but feel a wisp of relief for her.

At least her suffering was over.

“Come,” the High Priestess commanded, her hunched form moving toward the door. “You’re required for an experiment.”

Dumah felt the urge to resist and willfully let it pass. It was difficult. The energy he’d gained from the feeding could not possibly be enough for him to perform well in her experiments, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d pushed him like this. With no choice other than to follow her, he kept his eyes down and did as he was told, silent and obedient as a shadow.

* * *

Dumah struggled to catch his breath through his nose as his body threatened to give out after the experiment. Around him three other druids also appeared to be forcing themselves to appear steady and calm, but he was certain the High Priestess could see all of their weakness, clear as day. Even from where he trembled for all to see, he could make out the shake of hands. The heave of chests underneath robes. The sound of soft, sharp breaths behind masks.

Unlike them, however, he had no way to hide his own weakness, and when the High Priestess looked to punish, invariably her gaze settled on him.

“Your contribution was weak,” she scolded, mood thunderous. “Pathetic.”

He disagreed but could only stand in silence before her, still struggling to breathe. His nose ached and burned with the effort. All he wanted was to breathe in as fast and as quickly as he could, anything to sate the freshest need in his life. But Dumah focused on control. On maintaining every breath as careful and steady draws. Slowing the beat of his racing heart. If he didn’t and gave into his need he’d hyperventilate, and the last thing he wanted was to leave his body unconscious and vulnerable before the High Priestess, especially when she was displeased.

An abrupt, punishing shock threatened to undo his work, but instead of letting it destroy him, he stood straighter. Held his breath, despite the fact that his lungs still screamed for air and his heart, which had started to calm down, thundered again. The High Priestess appeared before him, her glowing eyes narrowed and hard.

“I gave you a strong one. You should have used that energy more efficiently. Instead your weakness is what has resulted in a useless product.” Her face was disgusted as she turned away.

Disobediently a tiny voice, little more than an impression, whispered through his mind that the failure of the experiment had nothing to do with him. After so long, he knew how to use energy efficiently. His life depended on it. He rarely had enough to survive as it was, he couldn’t afford to be wasteful. It had been the other druids. The fat druids. The complacent ones that relied on his skill and blamed their failings on him.

A part of him suspected the High Priestess was aware, but Dumah knew better than to entertain such thoughts. He banished them before they could plant themselves too deeply. The rebellious whisper faded.

“I believed I’d trained you better than that, but it appears I was wrong.” As the High Priestess spoke, the other druids wisely took their leave moving quickly out of the room. If he had their ability to leave, he would have done the same.

But chained as he was to the High Priestess’s whims and quintessent spells, he couldn’t.

So he stayed where he was, holding himself immobile even as his body now ached for hydration. He’d been too long away from his cell and his life-support system. He needed liquids, and soon, after everything she’d demanded of him. It wouldn’t come, he knew that. The High Priestess had been disappointed with his performance twice now, and that never boded well for him. The doboshes ticked by. He continued to wait, ignoring the physical needs of his flesh and the energy-hunger building in him like the only constant he knew. Beside the pain. It seemed an age.

The doorway opened and the familiar form of Sendak strode through, back straight, features expertly schooled save for the cruel glint of his eyes.

Dumah kept his eyes down as understanding rippled within his mind. It would be one of those days, it seemed. Riddled with the worst.

“You called for me, High Priestess,” Sendak said as he stood before her, chin lifted and shoulders back. The ideal Galra.

“Yes,” she said without looking at him as she stared at what remained of the failed experiment. “You have the report I wanted concerning the arena champion?”

“Of course, High Priestess,” Sendak said, eyes slipping slowly Dumah’s way, a cold promise there. It was then that Dumah turned his attention away as they continued to speak. He had no idea what they spoke about. He truly didn’t care. Sendak was here and that meant only one thing. It only ever meant one thing.

The urge to move rose up within him like blasphemy. The collar wasn’t fully active, not so soon after the experiment. He was still able to access his quintessence. She hadn’t cut him off yet. He could _do_ something. Twist space and leave the area. Summon the fraction of quintessence he had remaining and attack Sendak, kill him, suck him dry as he’d sucked so many others of their life energy. He could attack first; he was so much faster than the Galra. Dumah could remove him from his life and be free of one of his harsher torments.

Dumah remembered dead pink eyes in a young girl’s terrified face and found the will he’d buried digging itself up from the lowest pit of his being. Other times – many times, perhaps his entire memory – he’d forced it away, but this time he found himself mentally stepping aside. Not helping, not exactly. But not stopping it either.

Slowly his eyes lifted and his chest hardened. His fingertips twitched.

The spell in his collar abruptly locked down, cutting him off from his quintessence, and as slowly as his eyes had risen, they fell once again as his willfulness died. Only as they did he caught the High Priestess staring as if she’d known what he’d been thinking. Perhaps she did. It always seemed that way.

“High Priestess?” Sendak asked when she’d stopped mid-sentence to deal with him, and Dumah didn’t need to look to know what was coming next. He could feel it in the air. He’d have felt it in her quintessence if he’d still have access to it. She was staring at him, he could practically feel the invisible weight of her gaze.

It must have been enough of a hint to the Galran commander. Dumah heard the smug pleasure in Sendak’s voice and wasn’t sure who he hated more. Himself for that impossible potential of will he’d had, or Sendak for what would come. What always came.

“Was there another reason you summoned me, High Priestess?”

“His performance has been lacking,” she replied calmly. Immediately. Perhaps this wasn’t about what he’d almost done. Maybe she’d had this in mind from the beginning. He suspected it was always this way and he was not surprised in the slightest when she said, “Discipline him.”

He could hear the smile in Sendak’s words when he replied, “With pleasure, High Priestess.”

Bracing himself had never helped in the past, and so he did not try when Sendak’s metal fist struck him across the side and sent him sprawling to the ground. He bullied himself to his feet because he understood that was what was expected of him and the chances were higher that if he stood now, instead of remaining limp on the ground, the beating would end sooner.

“It seems like you’re craving it today, slave,” Sendak said as he struck him again, then a third time and Dumah did his best to remain upright with his eyes down. He refused to let himself imagine what he’d do if he had access to his abilities. He refused to show any clear anger or defiance, show anything at all.

Dumah resolved to maintain his emotional void. It was better to feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“I must admit, I’d hoped this might happen, slave. My usual in the arena is starting to wear out but I always have energy to spare for you.”

That wasn’t a lie and never had been. Never would be. Sendak might hate everyone, but he hated Dumah more than all for what he’d done to Sendak’s arm millennia ago. There was always cruelty enough for him.

The Galra seized upon his body, jerking him skyward before slamming him to the ground with a smirk, and out of the corner of this eye he saw the High Priestess continue about her work as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He supposed it was a true enough statement. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and as his body raged with agony he hoped things would follow their usual structure. Then he remembered not to hope at all and ignored the desire. Or tried to, anyway.

On the ground now, nasally gasping for breath with a body in the heights of pain, Dumah finally allowed himself to lay in a motionless heap, enduring the violent beating as he waited for Sendak to lose interest.

He wasn’t surprised when it took a while.

* * *

Alone in his cell again, attached to his life-support, Dumah listened to the silence.

It was a still, dead thing, punctuated by the stark presence of nothing. Not the sentry on patrol outside his door. Not the life-support as it pumped liquids and nutrients into his body through the permanent ports on his arms. Not himself as he focused on minimizing his own presence. No movement. Slow, quiet breathing. Controlled decrease of heartrate. Nothing. The silence pervaded his mind and body. It rang in his ears before even the ringing stopped.

The silence was the closest to peace Dumah knew.

He hoped it would last. It never did.

It did not mean he didn’t appreciate it when he had it, however. If there was ever a home for him, the silence was his home. He’d never known anything else beside the pain. The quintessence. The hunger. The need. The killing. The High Priestess. At least, he couldn’t remember anything else, before all of that.

Which was fine. If he’d forgotten a before – if there was a before – it must not have been important. If he’d forgotten, perhaps it had been for the better.

Truthfully, he did not know what his own name was or what the sound of his own voice was like. The dark abyss within his mind which should have held memories had taken such knowledge away, if there had ever been any to begin with. Well, not true. There had been something. Must have been because sometimes he _knew_ things, or little bits of knowledge would flutter out of the darkness of obscurity. Things he hadn’t been forced to learn by the High Priestess. Things that didn’t make sense but also did in the strangest way. As if he’d learned it at some point, only to forget.

One of those things was the name Dumah.

Logically, he doubted his real name was ‘slave’, but with the void in his mind and no clue as to if he’d ever had a real name prior to this existence … well, who would know. Certainly not he. As tempting as it was sometimes to use ‘slave’ as his name in his mind — or monster, tool, weapon, or any of the variety of names which had been used to describe him for longer than he could recall — the name he called himself was Dumah.

It struck him when he’d faced an opponent, deca-phoebs and deca-phoebs ago. He’d killed them, as he’d been expected to, but before the man had died he’d demanded to know his name. To know the name of the person who had murdered him so his ancestors would know who they should curse.

Dumah had had no answer to give at the time, not that he could have shared a name if he had. The thought had never crossed his mind. Names had been … nonsensical to him. He was a thing. He did not need a name.

But when asked, and long after he’d killed the man who’d died without the satisfaction of knowing who to curse, the thought had lingered. He had no name and yet he found he wanted one. Something to call himself, even if it never left the sanctuary of his silent mind. One tiny thing no one could ever take from him.

He hadn’t known what to call himself. Within his long service to the High Priestess he’d rarely if ever come across names. There had been numbers. Adjectives. For a long while he’d considered calling himself Zero, as he was nothing and it was fitting.

As it turned out, his name had eked out of the void of his mind where he supposed he’d once had memories. Once been a person and perhaps a learned one. In the middle of the night, not long after he’d been forced to drain almost thirty people in preparation for a larger experiment the High Priestess had made him participate in, a bit of concealed knowledge came to him. It had been nothing more than a story. A thread-bare memory from a civilization he couldn’t recall, if it had ever existed, about beings of pure silence. They were terrifying things, powerful things, monsters, but also strange creatures of solitude and peace. The Dumah.

He was not a creature of peace but there was no denying he was all the rest, and above all, silent.

And so he thought of himself as Dumah, and it was a fitting enough name. Good enough for him, though he would die as its only keeper. No one in existence would ever know.

He supposed he was content enough with that knowledge.

A latent ache from his beating earlier from Sendak reminded him of the injuries he’d accrued, and he supposed now was as good a time as any to heal at least the major internal damage. Even after the experiment today, he had saved the bit of energy from the girl he’d been forced to drain to do that much at least. Even if he’d had more, he wouldn’t have healed himself fully. He could. Even with the collar on, healing was one of the few abilities he still accessed since it happened within _him_. He didn’t want the High Priestess to find out since she was likely to respell the collar to stop him. Which meant any healing he did needed to be small and subtle. Changes that could not be detected.

So he focused, envisioning his body and the damage it had taken. It was everywhere, in bruises and welts and scrapes and wounds. He focused past that, moving deeper than his skin and muscle, checking his organs for damage. For abnormal bleeding or dangerous breaks and contusions. Once he’d found something he thought he could get away with healing, he reached for the energy and teased it toward the damage.

His liver stung as he eased energy into it, reducing swelling and encouraging better function. Once that was done, he found a spot of internal bleeding and sealed it. He continued for whatever he could work with, urging his body to heal until there was nothing left he could feasibly fix without it seeming unnatural or he ran out of energy, whichever came first.

Luckily this time he ran out of things to heal and was relieved to let his focus relax. His body still ached fiercely with all the damage it still was expected to deal with on its own, but that was nothing new. For now he’d done what he could and that was enough.

Dumah froze, eyes opening as sound neared him, and he counted the sentry’s mechanical steps carefully, mentally following its path as he’d learned so long ago. In three steps it would either stop in front of his cell to peer through and gather a report or it would carry on as if he did not exist. After everything that had happened today, it was unlikely the High Priestess would send anything to check on him, but he could never be certain. It kept him on guard, after all. On edge and always aware.

The sentry’s footsteps grew louder but to his relief didn’t stop. After a moment it moved past, steady as it was programmed to, and Dumah slowly closed his eyes again. There would be time now between the next patrol. Time to recover and rest, and steal snippets of sleep if he dared.

It was tempting as it ever was. Sleep was a commodity, and a rare one, but after all this time, he had a method. A system that he would not shirk or disregard for anything. He’d had a feeding today. There had been prey, and he’d killed both.

Dumah opened his eyes and looked at the dim reflection in front of him, a faint, ghostly thing barely visible in the transparent life-support cover, but there all the same.

The shape of his body, encased in his armor was always easiest to take in, even if it alone proved how much of a monster he was. Once every movement he was required to strip out of the armor for routine cleaning, but he’d long since cultivated a habit of not looking at himself if he could help it.

But sometimes he caught a glimpse of sickly gray skin. Protruding ribs and hips. Muscles and limbs like ropes he could see with every move. He was skeletal. Emaciated. Kept on the brink of life. The brink of strength. Powered almost purely by quintessence and life-support since the muzzle that covered the lower half of his face prevented him from eating, from drinking, from saying a thing, let alone to breathe through his mouth for extra oxygen in combat. The muzzle rose high over his cheekbones and the crest of his nose, curving around his jaw and locked in place by tight, immovable straps fitted both above and below his ears, locked at the back. Short bristles of white hair rose from his scalp, cut close during his cleaning but only after he was rendered unconscious.

The last thing he endured was the sight of his own eyes. Beds of yellow with blue irises, irises so dark they were almost black. They were lifeless. Soulless. These were the last things his opponents saw before he drained them. These eyes were the same eyes that young girl saw before he’d killed her.

If there was proof he was a monster, he needn’t look further than his eyes.

Forcing himself to keep his gaze, he thought of his day and everything that had happened. He thought of what his life was like as far back as he could remember. He thought back and back and back, drawing up the memory of every single person he’d seen with these eyes before he’d stolen their energy and killed them.

When he was ready, Dumah closed his eyes and focused on the silence. Focused on his breath. Focused on emptying his heart of all emotion. His mind of all thoughts, except one. His Number.

Yesterday his Number had been 219,054.

Today, his Number had risen two. It was 219,056 now.

Dumah repeated the Number in his mind, over and over until it had seared itself over the last Number. And once he had, he kept repeating it, thinking of the creature whose quintessence he had drained, and the little girl who’d looked desperately in his eyes for a savior.

And hadn’t found one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Kind of a lot for our poor Dumah/a story beginning, but I hope you're still with me despite where he is in the story right now. Like I've said in the tags, this story is largely about recovery, so things will get better but the process will take time. So I hope you enjoyed and you're eager for more because next chapter a princess is coming~


	3. The Prisoner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the first encounter and arguably the real beginning of the story! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> TWs: mild torture

Something was different.

To be fair, he doubted anyone else would have noticed. The changes were subtle. Changes that could, under different circumstances, be considered coincidental and nothing more.

But Dumah had been captive to the High Priestess for … well, he didn’t know for how long. Long enough to see the guards change countless times. Enough to forget faces and names as they all blurred together, one after the other. Long enough to learn the vast mysteries of the druids and their dark witchcraft. Long enough to forget everything from before, if there had been a before.

It made the change stark to him. Perhaps brighter than the High Priestess would have preferred.

And if he hadn’t noticed by now, he would have known merely by the mood which clung to his mistress. Whatever it was that had happened made the energy in and around her screech, even if there was no actual sound to perceive. He could feel it, however, even with the collar on. Never in his memory had she felt so … agitated.

Dumah knew what would happen if he let on and so he pushed the knowledge down. Somewhere deeper in the darkness of his mind, but not so far he could not touch it if he wished.

Now was not the time, not as he followed at her heels, her personal weapon and hand-crafted guard. This happened sometimes too when her work required her to leave the Emperor’s stronghold. He would be outfitted in better armor with, cleaner, sterling materials. His muzzle would be modified to extend out into a vacuum-sealed helmet and he would become her tool as he moved like a wraith in her shadow. While fully capable of defending herself and destroying any enemy which dared make her their target, her protection was his entire existence while out like this. He was fed more, allowed to dock in his life-support system for longer. Stressed less, unless she felt some great need to punish him personally.

Like this the spells on his collar were altered, allowing him access to his abilities, but completely leashed to her quintessence. If he tried anything, she would feel it. If he did anything she did not wish, she would retaliate instantly. Admittedly it was a different type of imprisonment, more weapon than slave, but if he had to mind, he supposed he minded less.

What beast wouldn’t want to escape its prison, at least for a little while.

Admittedly, today he would have preferred otherwise given where the High Priestess was going at a speed he couldn’t ever recall witnessing. Nothing was ever important enough, not recently, nothing except the Komar, and she would never use him for that again. Even if it was the Komar, he wasn’t fed nearly enough for that. Fed, yes, but not for that.

Dumah tried not to piece together what he knew. Tried not to draw conclusions because it wasn’t at all what he’d been trained to do. He was a tool, a slave, and tools and slaves didn’t think.

But he did think. He was armored and fed. The High Priestess was agitated. They were headed toward the Emperor’s Great Hall.

Even a fool would know nothing good would come from this.

Helmeted as he was – his visor darkened to those looking in – no one could properly see him, but he could see everyone else as they passed. Galra moved in a hurry, tones loud and sharp before silencing as they dashed out of the High Priestess’s way. He trailed like a deadly echo, and he knew that whatever had happened must be important because he received none of his usual double-takes.

Almost invisible like this, Dumah couldn’t help but eavesdrop though he kept his eyes carefully averted out of habit. The High Priestess spoke to a Galran soldier, snapping at him, the energy around her moments away from cracking to life and pouring into her unsuspecting victim.

“I don’t care what you have to do,” she said, her steps both fluid and swift. “Prepare every battalion you can muster. _Now_.”

“But, with all due respect, High Priestess,” the soldier hedged, and in that moment Dumah was certain a lesson would be dealt for daring to continue after so stark a command. “A muster of that size—”

The soldier choked on his next words as quintessence encircled his throat. The High Priestess lifted her hand and the Galra in her control lifted as well. His boot tips couldn’t brush the floor and he gasped and struggled, panic evident in his eyes. Dumah felt no pity for him. Not when he knew from experience that this was nothing compared to the true horror she could create.

“You’re mistaken if you believe I care or have time for your excuses,” Haggar said before she threw the soldier against the wall where he crumpled, momentarily dazed but still alive. She stood over him like a nightmare as he blinked his way to clarity, an edge of fear in his gaze. “You will summon the fleet. Our Emperor’s plan will not fail, or someone will pay.”

Dumah didn’t need to see to know the look she delivered the soldier. He’d seen it himself too many times to forget. Something between promise and deadly threat.

“Am I understood?”

“Perfectly, High Priestess!”

The Galra leaped to his feet, crowed a ‘Vrepid Sa!’ loud enough to echo down the hall before marching away at what bordered on a run. Haggar scoffed, distaste evident even as she continued on. She didn’t even look at him, much to his silent relief.

But it wasn’t long until the Emperor’s Great Hall came into view and any wayward relief he’d had died. This was not his first visit here, nor would it be his first time before their mighty Emperor.

It was always at this threshold when his legs threatened to lock.

The High Priestess flew through and Dumah refused to do anything other than follow inside.

Even if he’d never been in the Great Hall before he knew without a doubt that the nothingness in his mind could not have swallowed a memory of this place. The room was cavernous, tremendous, monstrous and awe-inspiring, vacant except for the long, ominous walkway leading to a magnificent throne. Great reinforced glass panes allowed for an open view into the universe beyond in what seemed like all directions. He knew there was no way he could have forgotten a place such as this. It always made him wish he could linger just a moment longer. Bask in terrible glory.

But there was also something about it that caused the emotional void in his chest to tremble, an impossible motion which never failed to unnerve him more than anything in memory ever did. He did not like this place. He never had.

Yet the man who sat on the throne, upright, armored, and eyes glowing like eerie stars as he stared at them _always_ sent a bolt of something he could never name down his spine to curl like a tight weight at the pit of his empty stomach. It was a sensation he silently despised.

Dumah _always_ wanted to run.

“My Emperor,” the High Priestess said as she dropped to a knee. Dumah imitated the motion immediately, head placidly bowed even as the void within him continued to churn, like something old and tired attempting to slowly wake after a long horrible slumber. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it had never been so … stark before. Usually the shift was little more than a sensation he could ignore. But today?

For whatever reason, a hairline crack tore through his inner void when the growling voice of Emperor Zarkon filled the great room.

“Rise,” the Emperor said. “Report.”

It was so subtle, Dumah was almost sure he’d imagined it had happened, but as the High Priestess rose and gave a report as commanded, he found he could not focus on her words. Something so faint was easing through that hairline crack in the void of his emotion, a minuscule hole that stretched from the seat of his thoughts to the center of his chest, and _that_ was how he knew something had changed. It was faint. Barely there.

But he _felt_. And even a small amount of this feeling bordered on overwhelming.

Whatever this feeling was was not good. In fact, it made his muscles clench and his back prickle with sweat. All from being in the presence of this one man on this strange day when something _was not right_.

“You’re certain your … weapon can handle the task?” the Emperor said, the first words which made sense within the new chaos of his inner world, and Dumah clung to them eagerly.

“Of course, my Emperor. While it is not viable for other more pressing assignments, this task is well within its capabilities, I assure you.” The High Priestess glanced at him and he rose to his feet, tugged up by an unspoken command triggered within the collar. “My weapon will do as it’s told.”

The Emperor’s glowing eyes fell on him, and from the minuscule crack, Dumah felt fear.

“Will you, weapon?” the Emperor demanded, his voice deep and rolling.

It was all he could do not to be swept away by the instinct to run, and he fought it with everything he had.

Still, the Emperor had spoken and expected a response, one he literally could not give. It struck him that this was the first time the Emperor had ever directly addressed him, and even if he could speak, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to. It was almost a relief to be muzzled, even if his silence was perceived as insolence. It kept the terror _in._

But to his astonishment, the High Priestess spoke for him.

“My weapon has no permission to speak, my Emperor,” she said, her voice slow and even. “But rest assured, it is well-trained and disciplined. It will do as I say.”

The Emperor eyed him, and despite the mask and its ability to conceal his eyes, Dumah could not hold that glowing gaze. It did more than unnerve him. It sunk deeper than anything had in a long time, widening the paper-thin fracture growing in his chest.

But with the larger crack, something else slipped through. Something that flashed with a viciousness and left a tightness in his jaw he could not release, a tightness that had nothing to do with his muzzle. It _burned._

Thankfully it did not show in any way. The Emperor’s gaze dropped from him as if he didn’t exist as he continued with the High Priestess. “Go. Prepare as we have planned. Be ready at a moment’s notice.”

The High Priestess bowed. “Of course, Sire.” She glanced at Dumah. “Come.”

And with that, he followed the High Priestess out of Emperor Zarkon’s Great Hall and felt the Emperor’s eyes on his back like a brand. Soon the shadows fell upon them. The only sound was the sharp click of armored boots on the floor as they crossed the threshold.

Dumah knew he should never be glad of anything, but that tiny fracture within him was grateful to leave.

* * *

They did not go far, all things considered, even if his muscles began to ache from the prolonged movement. It didn’t matter that he’d been forced to drain the quintessence of ten slaves in preparation for whatever the High Priestess wanted him to do. He shouldn’t be weak, and in truth, he wasn’t. His quintessent strength was considerable at the moment but his body and his muscles were another matter. He trained in combat as was expected for him, but there was only so much his life-support and the limited space of his cage could provide him beyond necessities. He was unused to long walks when he was trained to move by twisting space. His movements were economic to conserve energy, both quintessent and physical. After so long with the druids, conditioned to operate with less, the physical demand was almost staggering.

Yet the last thing he dared do was show it. Especially with his emotions a faint yet persistent presence within him.

He tried not to think of his life-support. He focused on the silence between steps instead of the steps themselves which always broke the purity of silence. Attempted to find solace there in the familiar.

Dumah was not succeeding.

“I imagine you’re wondering what I’m using you for,” the High Priestess said once they’d moved into passageways reserved entirely for her and those she deemed worthy. “You will soon find out.”

A strange tone he’d never heard before hung in her words, and usually he wouldn’t let himself think much of it past if it meant he’d be punished. But the day was strange and his emotions, dimmed as they were, flared again. He attempted to push them down back into the same void that had taken his memories. Anything to stop them from growing. Stop him from feeling _more_. Especially not now. Preferably not ever.

“As displeased as I was to find that you are unfit to perform the Komar ritual, I did not lie to the Emperor when I told him you are my greatest weapon. Where you lack proper quintessent compatibility and control, there is no denying that your capabilities are better applied to more lethal arts.”

From behind his mask, Dumah’s eyes deadened and the fissure dimmed. There was no denying that.

“Your mission is simple.” They stopped before a cell door, not the typical type used to hold slaves, but the type which often held threats. Dumah readied himself for combat, his mind already creating the battle path and his fingers reaching for quintessence should he need it in the next instant. He was unsure if he was surprised or not when nothing flew out to attack.

Well, nothing except words.

“I’d hoped never to see you again, _witch_.”

“That’s hardly proper behavior for someone of your standing, Princess.”

Violet lightning arched from the High Priestess’s hand and a young woman in Galran armor at the other side of the cell screamed with pain. Dumah watched without emotion save for a stray wisp of curiosity. These cells were meant for the dangerous. She hardly appeared so with the High Priestess torturing her as she was. What had she done?

The lightning ceased and the woman went limp on the floor. The hairline crack of his emotions pulsed. Reluctantly he found himself impressed. Most passed out after such a vicious attack. She was dazed, yes, but the young woman was still conscious.

The crack turned jagged when she looked up and there was fire in her eyes and delicate markings on her cheeks from a race that _should not_ exist. He was grateful for his mask at that moment and that the High Priestess’s focus was on her rather than him. Dumah’s eyes widened. His entire body turned to ice.

_Altean._

“Is that the best you can do?”

“Patience, Princess. You’ll soon have as much as you like once Voltron is ours.”

A bolt charged through Dumah, appearing just as quickly as it vanished, but once again the raw line of his emotions had grown with just a word. Voltron. The High Priestess said Voltron.

Dumah had no idea what Voltron was, but there was no denying that — like this … Altean – it meant something. Something hidden deep within him, trapped within the impenetrable darkness. Something that was slowly, yet also far too quickly for his tastes, trying to force itself out.

For the first time in a long time, Dumah felt real terror. Not at the High Priestess or what she might do to him. Not at the woman glaring furiously.

He felt terror for himself. At himself. Something was happening. The universe was changing, and it felt as if there was a bomb within him ready to detonate as the crevice kept growing wider and wider.

Abruptly Dumah realized he didn’t want it to grow. He didn’t want to _feel_ these things because feeling was too much within the silence of his life.

Focusing on the nothingness of the void instead of the spreading emotional fissure, he followed the High Priestess inside, intent on doing whatever was demanded of him. Anything to bring back the silence. Anything to stop whatever was within him from growing.

Readying quintessence for violence, he prepared to attack on the High Priestess’s command.

He was baffled when she issued no such order. Instead she glanced at him from under her hood, glowing eyes narrowed with intent.

“You will guard this prisoner,” the High Priestess said. “She is important to the Emperor for the time being. If anything happens to her — if she should escape — the punishment will be yours and you will find that your purpose as you are now will be obsolete.”

Dumah wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by that, but he’d seen other ‘experiments’ and ‘weapons’ become obsolete enough to guess it either meant death or fuel for some other monstrosity she’d created.

He desired neither for himself and nodded his understanding. He would do as she commanded. He would do it to the best of his ability. Doing so would bring back the pressing void, and with it destroy these … emotions.

“Good,” she said, appeased by his obedience. “Do not fail me.”

That said, she handed him a chip containing his orders and turned in a flow of robes to leave him alone with the prisoner. The door slipped shut behind them, closing him and his responsibility in together.

He did not look at her. He merely loaded his orders into the panel at his forearm, studied them, and prepared for his task. It would be indefinite, until the Emperor acquired this Voltron. He would still be required to respond to the High Priestess’s orders whenever she demanded, but for now this was his task.

“Well?” the Altean demanded, shoving herself to her feet. Her hands were clenched, waiting for assault. And he could. It was the Galra way and there was nothing in his orders which stated he could not harm her. All she needed to do was continue to breathe.

Oddly enough, his insidious emotions did not respond. He was left with only the comfort of the void, and for now that was all he wanted. Perhaps not peace, but something close to it.

Dumah walked out of the cell, letting the door hiss closed behind him and he took a position in front of it. The hallway was silent. There wasn’t a soul around except for the blaze of energy behind him. A slow breath eased out of his chest, and for the first time all day he allowed himself to close his eyes and sink into the silence.

* * *

The prisoner hadn’t spoken a word since he’d left her in her cell, though he’d heard the sound of her mouth opening and closing enough to suggest that she’d considered it. Was considering it. As much as he was able to feel gratitude, if that was what he felt, he appreciated that she didn’t say anything at all. It was easier to focus in the silence. Easier to find his stillness of both body and mind. In time this change would pass as everything else did. She would die, as they all did. Nothing would change.

The hole developing within him would stop growing and reseal itself. He needed it to.

Because her presence wasn’t making that any easier.

Despite not having said a word to him, it didn’t stop the faint flush of curiosity which seemed to build within him with each passing day. Altean. That meant something to him, he knew it did, and he did his best to ignore it. He didn’t want to know _what_ that meant to him, didn’t want the hole to grow because it _would_. But unfortunately the curiosity was persistent and much as he didn’t want to know, wanted to maintain things the way they were, he did.

Dumah _wanted_ to know.

Of course, he didn’t know how to go about doing this. He could not communicate with her. He was her captor. They could never trust each other enough for an honest answer. Yet, he tried.

Listening was his greatest strength, and once he’d centered himself and realized his surprising need to know, he’d listened to her. Admittedly, he heard little. Despite her fiery attitude while facing the High Priestess, while alone she was quiet. She did not scream. She did not curse. Sometimes he heard her move about her cell, likely searching for weaknesses or anything she could exploit before growing still again in failure. Dumah kept waiting for more. He wondered if she knew.

She was his responsibility completely. He brought the food she did not eat. He bore the brunt of her wicked and sharp tongue when he was required to physically enter the cell and check on her. He was forced to deal with her meager attempts at escape, and all the while he observed her. This was the first Altean — the vile other the Galra had defeated and swore to obliterate — he’d ever seen, and he wondered if she was a true model of her race. For some reason he’d always thought they were a peaceful race, despite the High Priestess’s teaching, but perhaps she’d been right all along. This young woman was made of fire and will despite the lethal circumstances. He’d seen many others who had given up by now.

She had not. And from the new emotions he did not want to feel, he could not help but be grudgingly impressed.

Like now.

It was mealtime and the gruel he’d brought her had already been thrown against the wall. Splatters of the liquid had landed on his shoulder, so close he could smell the vile concoction. It didn’t matter how it smelled to him, however. His stomach ached hollowly, and he’d have eaten it if he could, but the muzzle was relentless as always. The Altean made it easy to ignore, however.

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded, crossing her arms. “Why do you insist on feeding me when we both know it’s only a matter of time before Zarkon has me executed.”

Truth be told, he did not know. Under normal circumstances she shouldn’t be receiving such privileged treatment. She shouldn’t receive any sort of treatment other than harsh, cruel, and painful, and by all means, this was none of those. Granted it was well within the parameters of the assignment to ensure her stay included those things. But he didn’t.

He found he did not want to.

It wasn’t long before she began testing him, and it started when she attempted to attack him after he brought her next meal. He’d felt her before he’d seen her, sensed her quintessence, and he smoothly dodged the fist aimed for his head. She drew back, alarm and defiance in her eyes, rightly expecting retaliation and preparing for combat.

Dumah merely placed the gruel on the floor, paused to look at this strange Altean that did not cower, and left.

He expected to hear the sound of the bowl strike the wall. Strangely enough it didn’t happen, and when he next entered it was right where he’d left it, but there was a fraction less.

She tried again, this time drawing him further into the cell, but he merely dodged and avoided her, sensing her actions and reacting accordingly. It infuriated her, oddly enough. She didn’t appear to care that such attacks made by prisoners in her position would usually result in a severe beating, but what angered her was that she could not touch him — or that he would not engage.

“What is it?” she demanded, hands on hips. “I find it hard to believe that the witch would tell you not to harm me.”

She lunged at him. He twisted space and moved to the other side of the room and watched as she stumbled before quickly jerking around to keep him within her sight, alarmed.

“How did you—?”

He left before she could finish.

When he entered next she attacked again, only this time it was with a question.

“Are you one of Haggar’s Druids?”

Dumah removed her bowl and prepared to leave.

“You don’t look like a druid.”

The fissure in the void wafted faint satisfaction. He did not like the druids, merely tolerated them. Not that there was much more he could do beyond that.

“What you did … you manipulated quintessence,” she continued, and that at least caught his attention. Not many knew about quintessence, let alone enough to guess at the mechanics of his movements. “It’s wrong.”

His attention died immediately. He moved to leave.

“Why haven’t you punished me?” the woman pressed. “You have more than enough reason to.”

Dumah responded with silence. She scowled.

“What? Frishnil got your tongue?”

From behind the safety of his mask, Dumah couldn’t help but give a tired roll of his eyes. Mute jokes. How he had heard every cruel one in existence. It was one of Sendak’s private pleasures to provide him with a new one every opportunity he received. He opened the door.

“You don’t have to do this.”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

They stared at each other, but eventually she sighed and slumped against the wall before sitting down, and he left her there, relieved she had not continued. He didn’t want to think about what she meant.

When he next entered he expected her to speak again, some new form of retaliation, but she said and did nothing. Only sat in the corner with her knees drawn and when he offered the bowl she took it wordlessly.

Soon enough he settled into the routine they were forced to share, and as far as assignments went it wasn’t the worst he’d ever received. Unfortunately, despite its ease he required at least a minimal amount of time in his life-support pod, which had been moved closer for the duration of the assignment. And the High Priestess had only authorized certain times for its use.

Relief was both unwanted and heady when the opportunity to use it came and his temporary replacement arrived to relieve him. While his quintessence reserves were still largely full, his body was screaming for hydration, nourishment, and a rare opportunity to relax from his sustained activity.

Not to mention he was ready for a real reprieve from the Altean. To sink into blessed silence, if only for a small while, away from her and all the awareness he was required to devote toward her.

The pre-programmed orders to the guard had been explicit. One varga. They’d only need to guard the Altean one varga while he took what reprieve he could from the life-support before resuming his duties. Nothing was to happen while he was away. No harm was to come to the prisoner. No one was to engage the prisoner. The guard was not to engage with her. The orders were _explicit._

Dumah had been receiving life-support for the better part of ten doboshes before the sensor on his wrist triggered.

The Altean was attempting an escape. And if he didn’t leave immediately, there was a chance she would succeed.

The problem was that once the system began, it was necessary to finish or he would be forced back in, and for longer. At this phase, the best he could hope for was to end the cycle in five more doboshes. That was five doboshes he would have to wait before he could go after her. five doboshes she would be loose in the Emperor’s stronghold, capable of who knew what. Five doboshes head start before he could find her and capture her once again.

And it was time she had which even against great odds could result in her actual escape.

The crack within him widened and Dumah was shocked and appalled by what he felt coming from it. He could hardly believe it. It made him panic.

He wanted to let her try. He wanted her to do it.

It was that realization which forced him to act. He hit the emergency release, ending the cycle prematurely even if he suffered for it later, and waited only long enough to feel the cool, refreshing sensation of liquids entering his veins fade as the import valves along his body released. It left his body in a state of confusion. Teased with a taste of relief that ultimately would do nothing more than heighten his need.

Dumah didn’t care. He had to recapture the Altean.

Pain pooled at the import valves where the needles were all but ripped free and immediately he twisted space, moving from the life-support pod and out of the room in an instant. He focused, ignoring the startled gasps and shouts of Galran soldiers as he flew past them like a deadly wraith. Given the tracker on her prisoner’s cuff, he knew she’d already gotten far. Further than he’d expected.

But he was faster.

A flash of silver hair drew his attention as he rounded a corner just in time to catch her using momentum to throw a Galra soldier over her shoulder and slam him onto his back. A laser rifle was in her hands and she shot another soldier further down the way, forcing them to take cover while she ran around the next corner. He followed.

Immediately he realized her plan.

At the end of this section of hall was a row of escape pods, unguarded now that she’d taken care of the ones who had guarded them. She was attempting to leave. He could not let her.

Muscles screaming with exertion, he reached for his quintessence and twisted space again and again to close the distance. Usually this wouldn’t be as much of a problem but his body was undernourished and fought him viciously in retaliation for being removed from life-support. All of his intake valves ached bitterly from where he’d all but torn himself from them. If it weren’t for the quintessence he relied on to keep himself functioning, he was certain his body would have rebelled and failed him.

But it didn’t. He pushed it, and as always it did as he commanded and just in time. She’d reached a pod, opened it. Was moments away from activating it.

She saw him too late.

“No!”

His hand snatched her wrist and with a jerk that might have dislocated her shoulder, he yanked her from the escape pod moments before it locked and ejected. Heart thundering in his chest and hot anger radiating around it, he glared at the Altean woman despite the helmet barring his gaze. She was stunned but it didn’t last long. The spirit that had broken her out of her cell returned with rage and she struggled violently, almost overwhelming his weak and screaming body.

But he had a solution for that.

Quintessent lightning crackled from his hand into her body and an agonized scream erupted from her throat. The strength of it caused her body to thrash, but this at least he’d prepared for. Using her momentum, he slammed her onto her back just as he ended the shock, causing her to gasp, disoriented and dazed.

“That’s how you use quintessence?” she whispered, a look of hate in her blue eyes. “You _monster._ ”

All things considered, it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever been called. Yet somehow, the fissure tore violently at the slur and his chest twisted with shame. Monster. It shouldn’t bother him at all. It was the truth. He even called himself a monster.

But when she said it, it did.

Ruthlessly ignoring it like he ignored everything that came from the fissure now, he hauled her to her feet and pushed her stumbling in front of him. Sentries had already arrived and with a command from his wrist terminal, he sent them away. Nothing would stop him from placing the Altean back in her cell and never allowing her to leave it again. Once she was there once more he would find the guard that had failed in their duties and he would teach them why it had been a foolish thing to do.

As he rounded the corner he found he did not need to. The Galra was being dragged away limp and smoking by sentries. A hooded figure watched them go. Then she turned an icy glare on him.

The High Priestess.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, and in truth, he wasn’t. He’d only … hoped she hadn’t found out. This had not been his fault, but he knew who would take the blame.

“Inside,” she snapped, and he did as commanded. The door slipped shut behind her as she entered with them. The High Priestess scoffed at the Altean as he released her.

“Did you enjoy your little walk, Princess? I wouldn’t attempt it again if I were you. Emperor Zarkon prefers you alive for now, but he does not _need_ you alive to capture Voltron.”

“Then why am I alive at all?” she countered brashly, and Dumah wondered if she had a death wish. “You can’t fool me, witch. I wouldn’t be alive at all if he did not need me.”

“Need and use are two very different things,” the High Priestess countered. “Usefulness does not necessitate need. Merely … ease.”

The Altean bristled, clearly ready to snap again, but the High Priestess wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. The intensity of her eyes now landed entirely on him.

And he knew what that look on her shrouded face meant. Through his nose he sighed ever so softly.

“And you,” she scolded. “I told you not to let her escape. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. It was coming, he knew. It didn’t matter that he’d needed the life-support. That the time had been scheduled and that this had not been his fault. Dumah did his best to ready himself.

He was never ready for the pain as it blazed across his nerves, the collar igniting furiously. Already his hands wrapped around the metal, desperate to take it off, but the shock intensified so violently that he could never maintain his hold. All he could do, as always, was submit to the pain. Let it ravage him as it so often did.

When it ended, time had lost all meaning. He wasn’t sure exactly when it had ended, only that one moment he was one with the pain, and the next he had to force his body not to collapse. Every muscle screamed in latent agony, each still seizing and all he could do was breathe, his nostrils burning furiously with the effort. The sound was almost deafening in the resulting silence.

Dumah hated it.

With the eyes of the High Priestess still on him, judging him in case he should deserve yet more punishment, he forced his mind to focus on what the right behavior was. How he should hold his body. What he should feel, despite the fissure all but leaking everything it shouldn’t. Through pure will, he forced his breathing into silence. Closed his eyes behind the mask. Fought for control.

He won it.

“Let that be a lesson to you,” the High Priestess said. “If this should happen again, I will show you no mercy.”

“You call this mercy?”

The High Priestess scoffed. “And the young princess cares now? It was your actions which resulted in its punishment, and I don’t see why you should care for a tool.”

The High Priestess’s eyes bore into him, he could feel them even without looking. Desperately he willed his body to stay in his control just a little longer. To not let her see how close he was to regressing. He needed more air. He needed more energy. He needed time in his life-support pod and to be alone in his silence.

The moment seemed to extend into eternity, his need to last versus time that was always on the High Priestess’s side.

“Do not let this happen again,” his mistress finally said, and he had no doubt that if he failed a second time there would be no opportunity for a third. Ever.

Without another word she turned and left them there. Slowly he straightened, and now that she was gone he couldn’t force himself to stop the tremor that shook his hands ever so slightly, even though he tried. Now he felt the Altean’s eyes on him, her blue eyes noticing everything. Every move. Every weakness.

He hated it and relentlessly he glowered at her, even if the mask concealed the full power of it. It was enough. She flinched, but despite that she rallied and held firm. She studied him boldly until her eyes focused on his neck. It still stung from the attack, but with her eyes there now the pain felt much stronger. Far worse.

“That’s a collar,” she said, a strange look — _pity —_ flashing across her eyes. “You’re as much a prisoner as I am, aren’t you?”

The hole in him abruptly burned, ripping through him with a harshness equal to the collar and suddenly she was in the air, her feet dangling where he held her by her neck. Her hands gripped his wrists, wrapping around their emaciated width tightly but he did not let go. The pity had been too much and she would _pay for it._

Only … he couldn’t make himself go further. He’d never meant to go this far at all.

After another tense moment, he released her, watching her drop to her feet but she managed to stay upright she touched her neck protectively. A harsh look sat in her blue eyes, one he deserved and one he preferred. They stared at each other, daring. Waiting.

When she’d caught her breath, however, she said, “You don’t have to be like this. A slave to her.” She swallowed before bravely, stupidly adding, “I can help you.”

Even if there was no muzzle to prevent him from speaking, even if there was some way to communicate, he wouldn’t have. What had happened, what she’d seen, his _weakness_ … it wasn’t something he wished to discuss. Not ever. The mere thought of it caused the void to shift. Caused that break within him to move just a little closer. Help him? No one could help him. Least of all her.

And so he looked away, ignoring her, and to his relief she said nothing more.


	4. Breakout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's tired of Haggar and the Galra? I know I am~
> 
> Enjoy!

For quintants Dumah refused to acknowledge the Altean woman. He did what was required of his duty. He refused to do more. Refused to let that hole in the void dictate more when all it brought was agony. No. He’d learned his lesson. She was dangerous, he saw that now. He would not acknowledge her.

Only now she was intent on engaging him.

“Any other Galra would have tortured me by now,” she argued the moment he entered her cell. “But you haven’t. Why not?”

Mechanically he placed the food on the floor.

“Haggar and Zarkon are only using you, you have to know that. They’ll get rid of you the moment you’re not useful, just like they will me.”

Dumah straightened and turned to the door.

The bite in her voice rang throughout the tiny room.

“But then, I suppose some of us enjoy slavery.”

The crack in the void blazed so suddenly, so violently that he could not stop himself from whipping around and glaring. Belatedly he realized his hands were clenched. That they crackled with energy he should have controlled and could not afford to waste. The abrupt flood of emotion left him reeling, but it was tempered by the look of hesitation that crossed her face.

With effort, he forced his body to relax. He knew better than to get drawn in and riled up like this. It confused and irritated him how this Altean could do it so easily when Sendak, the High Priestess, and the druids had been doing it for as long as he could remember, and it had no effect.

Cautious now, though predictable in her stupid bravery, she continued slowly.

“I _can_ help you,” the Altean said. “We can help each other. Zarkon’s reign will end. Voltron and its Paladins are alive, and they _will_ stop him and save everyone. Even you.”

A weariness crawled into his chest, clung to every bone and muscle that already screamed with need. What she was talking about was treason. What she proposed was certain death and a slow, torturous one at that. What she was saying was what so many people who contributed to his Number had promised him as well. Had attempted to entice him with, if only he wouldn’t kill them.

He’d never fallen for it, not once. He’d never believed they could follow through on anything they promised. The only thing they could do was die, and at his hands no less.

Yet that crack, that impossible, persistent, growing plague on the emotional void of his heart … it insisted something was different about her. Altean. Voltron. Beyond the darkness of his memory was something, something he’d once known, perhaps. Something impossible. He realized for the first time in his memory that he believed her. Or, at the very least, he believed that she might have a real chance, however slight. Why else was she being kept like this?

His fingertips prickled, a new energy creeping into his body unlike anything he’d felt before. It wasn’t the sharp burn of quintessence or the rush of adrenaline fueled by survival, or even the relief of life-support.

Dumah didn’t know what this was, but it was insidious. It made him want to act. It made him crave. Believe.

He left.

Four sentries and two guards were positioned around her cell with explicit instructions not to engage her whatsoever until he returned, a reaction to her earlier escape attempt. It was time for life-support, and as punishment, the High Priestess had reduced his time in the pod to its absolute limit so he could return to his duties more quickly. It wasn’t nearly enough and left him aching more than relieved. He had to rely on quintessence to stay strong, burning through it more quickly than he liked. At half-reserves, a proper feeding was surely in his future. His Number would rise again.

He wondered if the Altean would one day be forced to add to the count.

As he closed his eyes for his short reprieve, he focused on the silence. Sunk into it and the rare peace he found there. Only this time it was different. This time, it did not work.

Because all he heard in the silence was the Altean woman’s words, demanding questions he’d refused to ask himself, and offering something he’d never dared consider.

In the silence, the fissure traitorously widened instead of closed, and Dumah sensed he was doomed.

* * *

He was standing in front of her cell as he had since the early morning when alarms tore through the Emperor’s stronghold, alerting everyone that Voltron had arrived and that they were to take their stations. The terminal along his forearm buzzed, giving him the High Priestess’s orders. Protect the Altean and kill anyone who might attempt to help her escape. Failure would not be tolerated.

“What’s going on?” the Altean demanded from the other side of the cell, a fist pounding brutally on the reinforced metal. “I demand to know what’s going on!”

Ignoring her was easy now that he’d been given orders and everyone and everything which passed him demanded his complete attention and scrutiny. It did not matter to him if they were Galra, sentries, men and women utterly loyal to the Empire. If they came close they risked death. His hand buzzed with quintessence ready to be released. He would not fail. He’d been given his orders. Nothing succeeded against the Galra Empire. Nothing. Not this Voltron.

And certainly not this Altean.

Time passed slowly and as it did great vibrations ran along the floor, slid up his legs from where their section of the stronghold had been hit or struck. When an attack landed too close. In truth, he had no idea what was going on out there. His terminal did not provide him with any information since it was not directly relevant to his mission.

But he could feel it, however. In the flow of quintessence. He could feel the familiar black iciness that was the hallmark of every one of the High Priestess’s spells. It was hard not to be familiar with it when an echo of it sat in a potent ring around his neck at all times. He could feel flashes of other energy, far brighter, warmer and intensely at odds with the death-like frigidity.

And he felt a quintessence far worse among it all. Hungry. Powerful. Unrelenting.

How he was certain, he did not know, but Dumah knew it was the Emperor. And that he was winning.

It should have brought him relief. It only made him feel colder. Dumah wondered if the Altean could feel it too.

Strangely enough she’d fallen silent since the battle had begun, and much as he waited for anything to attempt to save her, he found he wanted to know what she was doing. After all this time he understood a core component of her personality. She did not back down. She had an indomitable spirit and her silence was uncharacteristic. Was she afraid of what would come? The capture of Voltron? The loss of her future and everything she believed in? Her own death? It was enough to break most. Perhaps he’d believed she was not one of them.

A proximity alert tore him out of his thoughts, but not fast enough to prepare himself for what happened next. An explosion ripped through this section of the stronghold, throwing him to the ground so violently that for a moment he wasn’t entirely certain if he’d lost consciousness or not. Smoke billowed out from fried circuits and the sound of rending metal echoed through the hall.

Behind him he felt one of those stark, bright lights of quintessence, and knew what was going on.

Reacting without thinking, he ordered his weak muscles and tired bones to obey his command and he surged into her cell to find a massive metal lion’s head outfitted in colors of white and yellow protruding from the back wall. A man was climbing out, dressed in armor of matching colors, and the Altean was already moving toward him. This must be a Paladin and Lion of Voltron. They were here for her.

She was escaping.

Dumah reacted instantly, drawing upon his quintessence supply to twist space and reappear next to her, a hard fury beating in his chest. If she escaped, he would pay for it. The High Priestess offered no forgiveness, not this time. He could not let her go and he would do whatever was necessary to stop her. The collar around his neck ensured it.

Snatching at her wrist, he yanked her back ruthlessly, causing her to screech and for the Yellow Paladin to yell in reaction, lifting a strange laser rifle at him. Dumah pulled the Altean in front of him before lifting his hand, letting it spark in warning. He would attack and he would kill. He had to. There was no choice.

“Let her go,” the Paladin said, tone firm. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

“Let me go,” the Altean said, voice tight as she glanced at him. “I know you’re doing this because you’re forced to. Just let me go. I promise we can help you.”

His hold on her tightened brutally. He might not be physically strong, but his hold was enough that her wrist began rolling. Pain appeared in her eyes and the Paladin grew angrier. He advanced.

“Hey!”

“Hunk, stop!”

It was a good thing the Paladin had heeded the Altean’s orders because Dumah had almost attacked. But this Hunk did stop, if reluctantly. Dumah pulled the Altean back toward the door. She would not leave. He could not allow it.

Unfortunately he was so focused on the threat of the Paladin with the weapon that he was blindsided when the Altean abruptly moved, a hand slipping deftly under his collar.

Alarm screamed through him, and he shoved her violently, trying to force her to let him go. The collar was rigged. Only quintessence other than his own could unlock it, and anything else which tampered with it would cause the failsafe to activate. It would ignite a charge that would rip through his body and his quintessence, disabling and destroying him. He’d only experienced it once, and it was so far in the past that it was very nearly consumed by the black nothingness which had stolen the rest of his memories. It was his oldest memory, the furthest one he could reach, and it was filled with nothing but pain and failure worse than anything he’d ever felt. She was about to activate it again. He knew this might legitimately kill him.

The Altean yanked on it and quintessence shined, bright and deadly and Dumah was certain he’d failed. That fracture in his emotions had led him astray. It had distracted him from the real threat which had always been in front of him, replacing true caution with curiosity he had not been able to ignore. He’d thought her less a threat. He deserved the agony which awaited him now. The High Priestess’s failsafe would rip him apart.

Instead, a weight lifted from his throat.

Dumah stumbled, reflexively shoving her away and into the waiting hands of the Yellow Paladin. His hand darted to his neck where he felt only the fabric underneath his armor and nothing else. No heavy metal dragging at his collarbones, making them ache for so long he’d forgotten the ache wasn’t normal. No ring of ice to remind him who owned him, ready to strike at any moment. Bind him. Control his abilities.

The High Priestess’s collar was off and in the hands of the Altean prisoner.

Dumah froze.

The collar was there in her hands, inert and innocent. It was so small there, nothing more than a circle of metal, metal that contained the High Priestess’s quintessent spell when activated. This was the thing which bound him in captivity. This was the thing that had both granted him the use of his abilities and locked them away. This small ring was all it had taken to control him and make him bend to her every whim. Manipulated him and made him kill. Made him feed on the life-force of others.

It was so small. It looked pathetic in her hands, and yet with it there he felt weightless. As if an immense pressure had been lifted from his shoulders leaving him unmoored and strangely like he was drowning.

He didn’t realize his hand was shaking, that his vision had lost focus until a blur of yellow and white moved between the prisoner and where his hand had lifted of its own accord toward the collar.

“I don’t think so,” the infiltrator said, eyes hard as he held his laser rifle protectively. “It looks like she helped get that thing off of you. You can leave now.”

Dumah’s vision cleared and his hand dropped. His eyes widened as he took in a sharper breath through his nose.

He could leave.

He could _leave_.

“No, Hunk, I think he’s a victim in all of this as well,” the Altean said. “I believe this collar was being used to bind him to the witch’s will, and we should help—”

Dumah’s ears rang as the fracture deep inside himself, shift enough he realized something was hidden there. Buried so, so deep he hadn’t known it was there at all, something he’d forgotten. The thing hidden in the depths of his being was heavy. Compact. Something dense enough it seemed to possess its own gravity within him. That thing buried in his heart, it didn’t rise far. But it rose far enough. For the first time that Dumah could remember he felt something from within the fathomless void of his soul. At first he’d thought all those little feelings which had seeped from the hole in his emotions had been strong and powerful. He was wrong, and he knew that now. Those had been nothing more than flecks off the real thing. Whispers. The bare edges of feelings he hadn’t felt in so long that he’d forgotten that they were feelings at all. But this. This was real. _This_ was pure.

This was an emotion. This was a cornerstone of his being, hidden away. It was hot. It sparked within his chest, like fragile dying embers struggling to catch within his shadowed, deadened world. Flickers that threatened to fade from existence just as quickly as they’d come into it, trying desperately to stay alive.

But then it flared, and everything changed

Suddenly one thing dominated his mind. It was like a supermassive star within him. Like truth. Like something he’d been waiting so long for and had forgotten he’d craved. Something he never believed he would ever have. It crystallized in his mind, brighter than anything.

Freedom. He was _free_. Free to go. Free to stay. Free to make that choice. But there was no choice for him, not really. Not now. There was only one option, as blasphemous as it was.

But he didn’t hesitate. Nothing else existed in his mind.

Dumah ran.

Later he thought he heard the Altean call out for him. Later he realized that this would never work. That it was futile, after all, he’d seen the futility firsthand for what must have been thousands of deca-phoebs. He’d been the thing which had proved the futility. He had his Number to prove it.

It didn’t matter though. For the first time in memory he was free, and these powerful emotions drove him harder than the High Priestess’s torture and training ever had. She’d been worried about the Altean escaping. Had been so focused on that.

Oh the irony that after so long it was he who would make the active attempt.

* * *

Perhaps he wasn’t surprised in the end that his escape went completely unnoticed and unencumbered. With the rest of the Galra focused on the fight taking place outside with the Lions of Voltron, with Emperor Zarkon having joined the fight personally, the stronghold was a riot of half-organized chaos and no one bothered to spare a glance at the druid-like figure flashing down the hall faster than they could understand. He was burning through quintessence quickly but he couldn’t afford to care. He’d care about it later. He’d care about _everything_ later when there was time.

Knowing the High Priestess, there would have been a tracker on the collar, an alert which would have notified her if something happened to it. She would come after him, Dumah knew. And the closer he was the sooner that would be.

So that meant he had to leave. _Right now_. And he knew just how to do it.

The hanger was almost empty with a final squad of fighters preparing to take off just as he entered. They were launching one by one, but he saw the pilot at the far end was only just getting in. The hatch was open. There was time. Grabbing at quintessence he twisted space and appeared right beside the Galran pilot, tall, imposing, and refusing to let anything get in his way. The soldier startled and gasped.

“Hey! Who are you? What’re you—?”

Dumah threw the Galra out of the cockpit, shocking him into unconsciousness before sliding into the ship himself and activating the launch. The world blurred in front of his eyes. Lights streaked and his hold on the controls tightened. He was not allowed to do this when with the High Priestess. As far as he knew he had never flown before. But he’d always watched the pilots. Had memorized actions for each control, understood everything without realizing that he had. He did it almost without even trying. Logically he knew that should not be enough to fly.

But his hands flowed from motion to motion, and he refused to let his thoughts stop his body from acting even if he did not completely understand. It was working. He understood what he was doing on the basest level, and any extra thought would ruin it. So Dumah followed his instincts. Took a deep breath through his nose to steady these new, persistent nerves.

And then there was darkness. Silence. Space sat before him in every direction, but it didn’t matter because there he was in it, in a ship of his own, collar-less and alone.

It struck him that he didn’t know what to do next.

Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long to figure it out. Explosions blossomed to both the left and right of him, and he was forced to dive to avoid a stream of energy released by one of the Voltron Lions. Evasive actions became essential to the next few moments of his continued survival as fighting raged all around him fast and furious now that he was a pilot.

He moved though, avoiding shots and beams and the broken remnants of vessels that had been destroyed in the fight. It was breathtaking and terrifying, and his first instinct was to twist space. Move to a more secure location. Plot and strike when ready, but that was impossible trapped as he was within the fighter. The only way he survived was by flying it, and that was nothing to say about the stronghold’s shield keeping everything contained. He was lucky for now that none of the Galra were targeting him, but he didn’t know how long that would last. She would find out soon and that knowledge made the passage of time that much starker to him. He needed to leave. He needed to _get away_.

Then as if a prayer was answered, the massive shield fell.

Dumah didn’t think, only moved and relied on that dense, unknowable thing within him to take control and make the ship work the way it was supposed to. He didn’t know what he was doing, only that he must have done this before, long ago, before he’d forgotten. Before the High Priestess. Before the feedings and the quintessence and the torture, before the silence had become his only companion and escape, and—

With a glower, Dumah focused, snatching his mind from the thought-filled cliff it seemed intent on throwing him over. Now wasn’t the time for such thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to entertain _any_ thoughts, especially ones which weren’t conducive to his escape. In the madness of the fight around him, all attention was focused on the large machine that could only be Voltron laying havoc and the white ship that was turning away and moving fast. No one saw him. No one noticed his movements or actions as he pulled away from the fight and flew fast. All he could think about was leaving, getting out, evading the High Priestess. Finally, after so long, he was _free_.

And he would do whatever it took to keep that freedom.

Before him a wormhole burst into existence, and Dumah didn’t hesitate. He pressed the fighter forward, speeding ahead. He didn’t know where he was going or where it would take him, but it didn’t matter. That was a problem for later. Escape was the priority. _Nothing else mattered_.

Gripping the controls tight enough they creaked, Dumah narrowed his eyes and plunged into the light.

If he’d thought the fight was disorienting, it was nothing compared to the wormhole itself, but he focused beyond the tantalizing lights and toward wherever he was going. A proximity alert informed him that a ship, a massive one of white was behind him, along with all five Lions of Voltron. They would see him, in this Galra fighter. They would attack. Why wouldn’t they?

His thoughts stalled when he felt a flood of icy quintessence race past him and his heart fell when the blue of the wormhole abruptly turned violet. With dread, he sensed what had happened. The High Priestess. She’d contaminated the wormhole; it was the only explanation. He’d seen her do such things before with other space fields.

And he knew what would happen next if he did not react.

Yanking hard on the controls and throwing everything he had into it, the fighter dove fast and hard. Lions flashed past him, dropping out of the wormhole from the shock wave of energy he was now harnessing to get him all the way out. His fighter was small. It would take a lot to do it. The ship itself might not survive. He might not survive.

But he found, for the first time that he would be fine with that, because at least he’d die free and away from the High Priestess and the horrors he’d spent lifetimes enduring.

Still, having just touched his freedom, he was not ready to die. With every muscle shaking to keep the fighter on course, he focused and pushed as hard as he could. The engine screamed, every alarm in the fighter shrieked. There was no silence here, no peace, and the lights were threatening to drive him mad.

And then there was nothing.

The world fell blessedly silent even as the fighter spiraled. Instinctively he activated the throttle again, regaining his equilibrium and soaring straight before flipping to face the brilliance of what was once the wormhole, ready to attack anything which might have followed. His fingers waited on the triggers but all he saw was the crackle and flash of violet light before it vanished entirely. The alarms quieted. Everything stopped. Darkness dotted with more stars than he could have ever imagined hung in every direction he could see. There were no sounds except the sharp heave of breath in his nose and the frantic beat of his heart, but in time both also fell to silence as well.

There was nothing. Everything was still. Everything, for the first time he could remember, was at peace.

Dumah had escaped. He was free.


	5. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I hope you're enjoying the story so far and are excited for the next bits that are coming. We've finally moved away from Haggar, thank goodness.
> 
> In other news, I've decided to make the posting schedule Mondays and Thursdays, with an occasional Saturday thrown in if the chapters for the week are short.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> TWs: Suicidal ideation

Dumah was not as free as he’d first thought, but in the beginning it had not mattered.

The fear, on the other hand. That had mattered.

Now that he was alone without support, surrounded by true silence and peace, he realized that this newfound desire had also been illogically rash and likely ensured his death. He had a ship, but its fuel would not last and he had no idea where he should go. He had quintessence, but it would not last forever. These weren’t his most pressing issues, however.

It had been three quintants since his last session in the life-support pod. He would have had a session today if Voltron hadn’t attacked, and he knew from experience that he would _need_ the support, regardless of quintessence after one more quintant, perhaps two if he was lucky. It was the only way liquids and nutrients could be forced into his body. There was no other way.

Maintaining his calm and control, Dumah activated the navigation and plotted a course to the nearest world, and soon he was landing on the outskirts of a broken village the Galra had destroyed some time ago. Again he relied on these strange instincts to land the ship, but once it was settled he was out of the cockpit and on the packed earth in an instant.

He almost lost his balance. Given the rarity which he ventured with the High Priestess to other planets, let alone to the surface of them, the sensation of something other than cold, hard metal under his boots was striking, more so given his weakened state. Every small stone threatened to overturn him. Every gentle rise in the ground winded him and shallow slopes almost sent him falling. He was not used to this.

And yet he could not help but thrill with every step he took. Every step he _chose_ to take. Steps he made of his own volition.

Dumah didn’t go far – he hadn’t intended to in the first place – and jerked to a stop at the edge of a shattered fountain. Hints of ruined artwork still shown despite corrosion and violence, but what beauty it might have boasted was long gone. It didn’t capture his attention, however, but the water below him did. Just the sight of it caused his body to yearn with primal want, but he knew that even if he could somehow transfuse it into his body, he would not have used this water. It was thick and dark, stagnant, and the top of it gleamed with pollution. But despite its state, what he wanted from it was its ability to reflect, however faintly.

To his surprise, it reflected well. He could see a thin, dark and armored shape in the water, a featureless helmet gazing back at him. Dumah couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a proper reflection of himself and not some ghostly thing in the life-support pod’s hatch.

Dumah couldn’t help but stare at the creature reflected in the water, and with effort, he let out a slow breath. He’d seen himself in the pod's reflection but compared to this it might as well have not shown him anything at all. Bloodshot yet startlingly blue eyes stared back at him, eyes with bags so dark they looked bruised. The skin surrounding them was a sick gray, the hair silver-white and barely an inch in length except where the thick metal straps of his muzzle clung to his skull. The black muzzle was monstrous and Galran in design, and it obscured everything below the swell of his cheekbones and over the nose to below the jaw, locking it shut. Bones protruded from beneath that gray skin, leaving deep hollows. He was sickly. Skeletal. Terrifying to behold.

But he was free and this was real, and he’d shirked the chains that had enslaved him. But seeing himself wasn’t what he’d meant to do. He hadn’t even _wanted_ to see himself.

What he wanted was the muzzle _off_.

A hot burn filled his blood and he watched those eyes — his eyes — harden in the water. He wanted it off. He wanted it off _right now_ , and it didn’t matter that the few time’s he could remember, back in the early days where his memories started to fade that every time he’d tried to rip it off it hadn’t worked. Back then the muzzle had been trapped, rigged to shock him viciously if he attempted to remove it. That had been so long ago, before he’d learned how futile it was and stopped trying. It was possible the High Priestess had removed the trap. He had not made an attempt in so long.

Hope ignited in his chest. It might come off. And if it could come off, he might survive.

His fingers were already digging through the prickly strands of his hair, reaching into the impossibly tight crevice between the unyielding straps and his skull. It hurt, burned especially as it tugged at his jaw, causing the muzzle to dig further into his neck, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t the shock of quintessence and that fueled his need. He could do this. He could take it off!

The shock was mind-numbing when it came.

Dumah wasn’t certain what triggered it, only that it had, and instead of a full-body shock he was more used to, it was all concentrated around his skull. He knew for certain that it caused him to lose consciousness after the pain left him weak and broken. He awoke, his thoughts sluggish and the movements of his body uncoordinated, as if he was trying to manipulate it from far away. Everything slowly settled as he managed to sit up and lean against the shattered fountain, and eventually the world righted itself. A headache pounded throughout his temple and if he weren’t already concerned about his limited supply of quintessence he would have used some to wipe it away.

But it was clear that the muzzle was not coming off. Not by his hand. Maybe never at all, and it made his situation much more dire. Made all of this … freedom bittersweet and desperate.

He couldn’t remove the muzzle. And if he didn’t, his freedom wouldn’t matter. Nothing would matter. Because if he couldn’t get it off so he could at the very least learn to drink his own water instead of relying on life-support to do it for him … well.

He’d be dead. And that would be it.

* * *

Dumah was dying by the time he landed on the forest planet the navigations systems labeled Olkarion, and it was the last hope he had.

It had been an impossible four quintants since his escape and everything he’d tried to nourish his body and save himself had failed. Since the muzzle could not be removed the next option had been to secure a life-support system of his own. Find a way to give himself what he needed intravenously through the ports on his arms. He’d found a civilized planet. He’d located a doctor and he’d … coerced him into helping.

Only the doctor could not help. The ports along his arms required a special mechanism to open and use. They could not be removed without causing enough physical damage that he would bleed out before he could be saved. It would require a level of healing unseen since the time of the Altean’s.

He could heal such wounds. It was not impossible with his abilities now fully under his control. But he lacked the quintessence needed to manage such a healing. He was already using so much of it simply to keep himself going.

But as he’d looked at the doctor, he knew there was an easy solution to the problem. It would be so simple. Breathtakingly easy. All he need do was drain the quintessence from this person. Perhaps drain the quintessence from several of the people around him. He’d be able to rip the ports out and heal himself then. He would be able to do it, and then he could save himself. Nourish himself until he could find a real solution to the problem of his muzzle. His hand had even lifted, and the doctor had flinched back in fear. He could do it.

Only he hadn’t.

Dumah had only sighed and left. He would find another way. Or he wouldn’t. Either way, he would not feed again, not even to save himself. Not when his Number was so great. Not when the people around him did not deserve it.

And so he’d starved, and he’d weakened, moving from place to place in a desperate, hopeless search for a solution. Olkarion and its technological people had been his final idea, not for lack of thought but because there would be nothing left of him after this. Already he couldn’t see straight. His thoughts were muddled, and his muscles fought him every chance they had, which was every moment of awareness. Dumah was certain that the next time he slept, he would not wake.

Because of his fatigued state of mind, when he landed it wasn’t in the city as he’d meant but on the edge of it, in the forest. The cockpit had opened and instead of the scent and sounds of civilization, what curled around him was … freshness. It revived him, filling him with an echo of the lush life that surrounded him. With bleary eyes he glanced at the green, sunlit canopy above. Luxuriated in the cool shadows as the sounds of nature eased his mind. The rustle of leaves in the wind. The distant crack of sticks broken under a creature as they retreated from his ship. Birds. Animals.

Almost too late he realized his eyes had closed and his body was giving up, and with what vestiges of energy he could summon he forced himself upright. Tottered to his feet. Uneasily stumbled to the ground where the loamy softness of the earth sucked at his boots and made it that much harder to move. A glance at his navigation didn’t help. He couldn’t make out the symbols anymore, couldn’t remember the trip down, and thus had no way of orienting himself.

For a moment he stood there, lost. He slowly turned, attempting to get his bearings, but everything looked the same in every direction. He didn’t think he could make it back into the ship. He didn’t even want to.

It took Dumah so long to realize he’d started moving that it was almost comical, and even then he didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care, now that death was certain. He was never making it out of this forest, and since that was the case, what did it matter where he went? Still, he was surprised to find he did end up somewhere, though the closer he got the more he realized why. It was hard to ignore the scent of cool moisture, and the small spring that lured him like a siren was perfect in every way.

Clear water glittered like crystals under the dappled sky, with life growing all around it in the form of grasses and trees and water-flowers that rose out of its life-giving waters to grace the area with beauty. Small eyes peaked out at him as he drew closer, then scampered off when he drew too near. The sight of the spring left him disoriented, and he forgot that there was no way he could drink it. Dumah dropped to his knees. His hands dipped into the cool water and cupped it, lifted it. It could save him.

Only it couldn’t. His hands bumped against the unyielding form of his muzzle and the water dropped to the lush earth below in droplets that he would never experience.

Perhaps that was the worst of it because his will vanished completely as he knelt beside the pool, watching it with dead blue eyes he could see reflected in its pure depths. The water was right there. He could see it. He could touch it. He could hear it and even smell it from behind the muzzle.

But he could not drink it. He could not use it to sake his thirst as his mouth was bound and there was no method he could use to replenish his fluids intravenously.

Dumah knelt beside the small, glittering pool, and ached hollowly at the injustice of it all. His collar had been removed. He’d escaped. He’d been freed. What he needed was right at his fingertips, yet he could not take it.

He wondered idly if this torture was worse than anything the High Priestess had ever put him through.

Now that his final act of will had been used up, this was it. He was dying. His body knew it and had expected him to do something about it regardless of the fact that he could not. Now that he’d given up, it grew more insistent. Dumah wished it would stop. Leave him alone. It seemed he couldn’t escape pain and suffering no matter what he did.

At least he knew his death was soon. Just on the other side of sleep. All he needed to do was let go.

With his head pounding and darkness curling around his vision, Dumah dragged himself toward the base of a massive tree before he gave in and collapsed. The intense scent of the forest was even stronger here with his face pressed to the ground, but oddly enough it wasn’t as sharp. It was loamy and moist. Fresh and better than anything he’d ever scented before. From that dense core within him, the thought that it smelled like life fluttered through his mind. Dumah found he agreed, though he’d never scented life before. But if it had a scent, he thought it could be this.

His lips twitched ever so slightly from behind the muzzle.

It wasn’t a bad scent to die with. Better than his sterile life-support or the smell of blood and electricity from his feedings lingering in his nose.

No. This wasn’t a bad scent at all. As a matter of fact … none of it was bad.

So Dumah closed his eyes. Listened to the world around him and found that the natural quiet was more soothing than perhaps anything he’d ever experienced before, even the silence, and that was consolation enough. It lulled him, promised to make the passage into death gentle and sweet, and despite everything his life had been, despite all the pains and tortures and evils and shames, he was grateful.

He could finally stop.

Dumah’s ears twitched at the sound of a footstep in the foliage, and despite everything he wanted, despite his willingness to give up, he opened his eyes. Found them focusing beyond the death-haze descending upon him to peer into life one last time. His heart sank.

Galra were there. Two soldiers and three sentries. One of the Galra appeared to be a commander.

It seemed he could not even die in peace.

“Well,” a gruff voice said. “What do we have here?”

“Looks like a … druid?” the other Galra hazarded. “But I’ve never seen a druid like this before.”

“That’s because it’s not a druid,” the commander said before a slight smirk appeared on his face. “But I think I know what it is, and who it belongs to. Isn’t that right, slave?”

A pulsing burn fluttered in his heart at the slur, but that was all it could muster. He only looked at them, waiting, mind clouded. Waiting for them to do whatever it was they were going to do. The commander gestured to the sentries.

“Take it,” the Galra said before he crouched beside him, crushing the grass mercilessly. “High Priestess Haggar has been looking for you.”

Dumah let out the smallest sigh before all the energy in his body dropped away. He might have escaped, he might have run this far, he might even have been on the brink of his very own death, but it seemed that it was all too good to be true. He’d been found by the Empire. Recaptured when he could do little more than breathe. He hadn’t even been able to die on his own terms.

As he was dragged into a transport he almost cursed the Altean woman for giving him even this small taste of freedom, only for it to be taken away so cruelly once more.

* * *

He’d thought the commander would bring him to a battlecruiser the moment he was able, but instead they detoured to one of Olkarion’s gleaming cities. The project there was nearing completion, it seemed. The commander’s presence, Commander Branko, was required immediately.

“I think you’ll keep for the time being, don’t you?” Branko said, the stink of his breath reviving Dumah momentarily with how strong and vile it was. “But don’t worry, we’ll get you back to the Empire in no time. And besides, I already sent a message to Haggar that we’d found someone fitting your description. She wants to see you immediately. Might as well do it here. Two borigs, one hiphreek.”

Dumah didn’t care, and frankly, while he could he was going to muster what energy he had to find a way to ‘expire’ before he could ever see her hooded face again. To fall asleep one more time was all he needed, that or to entice them somehow into ending his sorry existence for him. But the fatigue was already dragging at him. The easier path might still be in reach.

Closing his eyes, he resolved to let go.

Sharp pain to the face brought him back and he glowered as the commander grinned.

“None of that, now. I’m sure Haggar wouldn’t want you enjoying a nice nap. No telling if you’d even wake up from it and I don’t want to be on her bad side for letting you die.”

If he weren’t being maintained by the lifeless sentries, he’d have drained the commander of his quintessence out of spite.

He was dragged into the tower of a gleaming building which rose above the city, and given his forced lucidity he saw that those of Olkarion could not have helped him even if he’d desired them to. They wore the slave’s garb, moved in chained groups at the bidding of a Galra master, too scared and weak to do much more than he could now. He saw surprise in their eyes at the sight of him. Saw distrust. Even saw some cruel, vindicated righteousness for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom nor care about.

All that mattered now was that he wasn’t going to die yet. And if he couldn’t die soon, then the High Priestess would make sure that any death he achieved — should he be so lucky — would be worse than anything he could have ever imagined. The idyllic pool had been as close to paradise as he’d ever achieved in his life. Already he wished he’d died there. That he’d given up just a little faster. A little sooner. This would not be happening.

And he wouldn’t be forced now to his knees in front of a massive screen where the High Priestess’s likeness now rose above him, larger than life and impossible to ignore.

The sight of him caused her eyes to narrow and the glow intensify. It didn’t matter that she was galaxies away. It had the same effect it always had when he saw her. His body cooled. Caution filled him. He lowered his gaze.

“You.”

The tone of her voice was all he needed to know that once he was within her clutches, not only would he never get away again, but there was also no saving him. Not only had he failed his mission, but he’d left. Escaped. Betrayed her. He would become one of her wretched experiments, mindless, blasphemous, horrible. Of that he was certain.

“We tracked him into the forest,” the Galran commander all but crowed, his pride apparent. “I’m ready to send him to your location whenever you desire.”

“No,” the High Priestess said, her voice clipped. “Keep him there. I’ll retrieve him myself. Ensure he does not die or escape before I do, or rejoining the main fleet will be the least of your concerns. Do you understand, Commander Branko?”

The stark command had clearly surprised him because the Galra almost sputtered before he drew himself together. “Of course. Vrepid Sa!”

“Oh,” the High Priestess added. “It would be in your best interest to continue using sentries when handling him. You’ll be sorry if you don’t.”

Dumah seethed.

The monitor went black and he turned his glower to Branko who only grinned, though he was bitterly pleased to see there was an edge of caution and curiosity.

“Hard to believe a pathetic creature like you could still be dangerous, but the druids,” Branko muttered, shaking his head. “Well, them and their monsters really are something sometimes. Isn’t that right, _slave_?”

Dumah found a fraction of energy left enough to jolt, even though he knew the sentries wouldn’t let him go. That wasn’t the point. Watching the commander twitch back was, and that hole in the void was pleased. The Galra scowled.

“Get it out of here! Put it in one of the Olkari cells for the time being.” A Galra soldier approached Branko, telling him that the Cube was almost complete, and the scowl on his lips twitched up in pleasure. “Well, perhaps fortune is smiling on me. I might please both Emperor Zarkon and Haggar all in one go.”

He waved them away and the sentries hauled him through hallways and down passages until he was thrown on a dirt floor before something was jabbed into his neck. The pain was small in comparison to everything he’d been through, even with the surprise that came with it, and it was gone almost as soon as it was there.

“A booster to keep you alive until the High Priestess arrives,” the sentry said, its mechanical voice tinny and irritating when all he wanted was for it to go away. Thankfully it did, though he hated it because his body felt better from the injection. Not enough to move or fight. Just enough to know that he wasn’t on the cusp of death anymore.

So much for freedom.

A sedative of some sort must have been mixed in because what focus he’d maintained fell apart as the world spun around him, fracturing his thoughts into nothing more than one long, sustained moment of semi-awareness where no thought existed. Occasionally he thought he heard whispers. Thought he saw movement, shadows, perhaps other prisoners since this _was_ supposed to be an Olkari prison. It was all too much for his mind to piece together. He only knew that this reprieve, here on the filthy ground with a body that could do little more than cling to life would not last. She was coming. His owner. His mistress. The being he’d betrayed. She was coming for him.

Dumah wondered what it had all meant in the end. If it had meant anything.

It took him a long time to realize that the rumbling he experienced wasn’t a result of whatever drugs had been in the booster, but was actually taking place outside, not near but near enough. The Olkari in the other cells were getting louder. He heard terror. He heard hope. He heard bitter faithlessness and he heard need. All of it was so familiar to him, like a dark lullaby. He’d heard these sounds for as long as he could remember, in all the people he’d killed and drained for quintessence so he could survive. Dumah didn’t care what was happening outside. It all meant the same thing in the end. Pain. Brutality. Death.

And then he heard the one word he had not been expecting. Voltron.

“It’s Voltron,” someone whispered like a desperate prayer. “It’s Voltron!”

In the distance he thought he heard the roar of a lion, but he couldn’t be certain it wasn’t simply a hallucination.

Not long after the world grew silent and still again. He drifted in the darkness, bitter because the only thing which made sense was that the Galra won because the Galra _always_ won. The cheers he thought he heard were only screams of sorrow and defeat. The light he saw, the movement was just the demand of Galra oppressors leading the slaves to their work and their deaths. That was what happened. That was the only truth that had ever existed in thousands of deca-phoebs. Nothing had saved the Olkari. Nothing could stop the Galra.

The sound of metal bars moving drew him out of his mindlessness, and drained as he was he still found the strength to glance up. He hoped it was a stupid Galra soldier. Even if it was the last thing he did, he could still leech their energy. Try to get away even if it was a practice in futility. He could go back to the forest and try to die there again. At this point, it was all he wanted.

Dumah wondered if he should even bother or if the sentry had given him something other than a booster, something lethal, and that he was well on his way to death because it was all that could explain why he saw the Altean woman again. She flickered in his vision, flanked by more of those Paladins. He couldn’t understand what she was saying in this dying dream. One blink and she looked surprised. The next she looked concerned. He was on his back staring at a dark ceiling. He was on his back staring into a pale, glowing white so bright his eyes burned, and he was certain that this was it. He could finally stop. He could finally let go.

But then he felt the undeniable rush of cool, reviving liquids enter his body through the ports in his arms and any question of death ended as his body did as it always did and struggled for life. There was no doubt. He was going to live.

As darkness blanketed his mind, the last thing he saw were the Altean’s blue eyes, and he didn’t know if he was grateful for them or hated them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's with Allura~
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Next chapter drops on Thursday!


	6. Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and happy Thursday! I hope you're ready for the chapter because it's kind of brutal. Please read the trigger warnings. It's the worst the story will get as far as body horror goes and it's also pretty brief but I wanted to warn you beforehand. Besides that, I like this chapter and I hope you enjoy it too :]
> 
> TW's: body horror, self-harm

It was the jolt that woke him, and like it or not awareness blazed through Dumah like fire. It didn’t come with coherency, however. Awake as he was, his focus kaleidoscoped in and out, his logic following the same pattern. He was somewhere unfamiliar. The floor rumbled. A ship. An unfamiliar ship. Alarms.

Wherever he was was being attacked. All he could think of was the High Priestess. The Galra. Certain slavery and so much worse upon capture.

His mind settled on one word and Dumah clung to it for all he was worth.

_No_.

He was in a bed of some sort, tubes connected to his intake ports and he ripped them out before stumbling to his feet. The ground shuddered again, the ship was moving quickly, but just from the feel of it, he was certain something was wrong. There were too many shots landing. Too many alarms.

While nowhere near better, he was surprisingly aware that he was far from the edge of death as well, body revived enough he could move and act again, if just. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t understand what was going on but that could wait. The bit of strength he possessed now made the fight in him come back.

He _would not_ go back to the High Priestess.

Reflexively, he extended his awareness of quintessence, and to his surprise he felt something familiar. Someone familiar. The Altean woman. He recalled blue eyes from the drugged, dying memories he last remembered but had thought were hallucinations.

Perhaps not.

Focusing on that energy despite the whirl of his mind as it still wobbled between waking and unconsciousness, he reached for energy and twisted space, focusing on where she was, even if he was unsure what good it would do. At the very least he could force her to take him to the bridge where he might be able to do something. That or to a smaller ship he could steal.

For a moment he thought he’d fallen unconscious and landed straight in a dream when he manifested on what could only be the bridge, the view before him bright and clear with a panorama of space and the battle around them raging in all directions. But it wasn’t a dream. He was right next to her and she gasped, startling and causing the entire ship to jerk in response as she handled controls he’d never seen before.

She wasn’t alone. Her warriors were seated across the room, and to his surprise there was another Altean at a separate panel. The Paladin in black reacted instantly.

“Breach!”

The shout had been loud, it echoed in Dumah’s ears along with the sound of weapons quickly aiming at him. The fight outside continued. The Galra were advancing. There wasn’t _time_. They weren’t focused. They didn’t see the way.

But he could.

Ignoring them, ignoring everything, he glared at the Altean woman and pointed furiously at the moon.

She stared at him, silent even as her Paladins shouted at him to obey and stand down. Their eyes held then hers flicked to the moon, considering. Then, to his relief, he saw the flash of realization, of understanding, and her hands dropped to the strange controls.

“Everyone hold on, I have an idea!”

Her Paladins shouted, the other Altean squawked, but it didn’t matter because the next moment Dumah had fallen into a limp pile on the floor as the ship roared with movement.

“Princess!”

“We’re going to use the moon’s gravitational pull to give us the edge we need.”

Good. She did understand. Dumah didn’t bother to move then, there wasn’t much he could do now except watch and wait. See if she and her team could pull off yet another surprising maneuver. The ticks passed tensely; his eyes tracked the sensors though he couldn’t understand a word of the foreign language. Gravity built, his heart raced and, impossibly, blue light sprang to life. A wormhole formed. One moment they were being attacked, the next they were through.

Silence settled, thick except for the sound of heavy breathing not only from him but the others as well. The weight of their eyes on his prone body was uncomfortable but also predictable.

So was the barrel of the rifle aimed at his head. The Red Paladin scowled.

“Last time I met someone who moved like you, nothing good came of it.”

“Keith, no! Stop!” The Altean stepped from her position to put a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “He just helped us escape.”

The Paladin scowled. “That doesn’t make me trust him any more.”

An alarm sounded and they exited the wormhole — early according to the male Altean. It didn’t matter to Dumah one way or another. They were away from the Galra. They weren’t being attacked. He wasn’t being attacked.

For the time being.

“Coran, figure out what happened,” the Altean woman said before she knelt beside him. “You shouldn’t be awake and moving. You were half-dead when we found you. You need rest.”

“He needs to be put in a cell is more like it,” the Blue Paladin said. “Hello? Evil magic Galra?”

The small one in green scoffed. “He can teleport, Lance. What makes you think a cell is going to hold him?”

“We are not putting him in a cell,” the Altean woman said firmly. “What he needs is medical treatment. And if you just forgot, this man helped us escape. We owe him that much.”

The Yellow Paladin, Hunk, moved nervously, but he also slowly lowered his weapon. “I’m with her, guys. Remember, I was there when we — uh — first met. I really think he needs help.”

“And no one thinks it’s strange that he just happened to be on Olkarion when we were? Out of the entire universe?” Keith scoffed before crossing his arms. “This is a bad idea.”

It _was_ a bad idea. A monstrous idea. Dumah did not like it any more than they did. But he also wasn’t a fool. He was weak. They were willing to provide medical aid, supposedly. He could use them until he was stronger. Kill them if need be, and escape. But until then they had a method that worked with his import valves. A way of giving him liquids and nutrients and keeping him alive.

For now, he needed it. And he needed them.

Despite the Altean’s concerns, he once more forced himself to his feet, nose burning with the exertion. The others eyed him, half raising weapons again, but he remained still, moving only to nod to the woman. Her lips pressed thin but in the end she gave a curt nod back.

“Follow me.”

It was slow moving with her, Hunk and two of the others flanking him as he hobbled down passageways. Twice she offered to help him. Both times he rewarded her with a glare so intense he was sure she understood what he’d do if she touched him. The moment they entered what was the medical bay and the room he’d awoken in, he twisted space so the next instant he was on the table, an arm and import valve exposed and ready.

To his unease and disappointment, the rest of her team appeared to have finished their business and crowded in, taking positions around the room. As willing as he was to attack should they make one wrong move, they were as willing to do the same to him.

Truth be told, it was almost a relief.

Lifting his arm again, he made it clear what they should do, and slowly the Altean attached a tube, explaining it was only water. Again the sensation was so cool and refreshing as it entered his dehydrated veins that he practically wilted with relief. Sleep called for him. He yearned to obey.

But not like this, surrounded by enemies.

“I believe after everything that’s happened we might have gotten off on the wrong foot,” the Altean woman said, breaking the silence. “My name is Princess Allura. These are the Paladins of Voltron. We are here to fight and rid the universe of Emperor Zarkon and the threat of the Galra Empire.”

Dumah gave the faintest snort, something he’d never done before while under the High Priestess’s control. It felt strange to do.

But oddly enough, it also felt good.

The princess’s eyes hardened. “We saved you, didn’t we? We fought and escaped Zarkon. We’ve managed to evade capture.”

_By running,_ he thought. Hardly what was needed to fight the Galra Empire, let alone the Emperor. The druids alone would destroy them. He could destroy them right now.

But she had saved him. That was a fact. For whatever reason, she’d saved him twice.

“Do you have a name? Why were you with the Galra?”

A waft of amusement crept up from beneath his ribs, so new and strange that it overwhelmed him. Of course, he shouldn’t be surprised. Interrogation. He supposed he’d have done the same in her situation.

When he didn’t respond a frown crossed her face. “Giving us the silent treatment isn’t going to help, you know. I understand reluctance, but we _are_ here to help. You left the Galra, you just helped us escape them. You clearly don’t want to go back. Trust me when I say we’re on the same side.”

This time he made a show of eyeing the Paladins and the many weapons at the ready. This time the Black Paladin spoke, evidently the leader of her guards.

“You can’t blame us for being on edge. We don’t know anything about you, and you’re not exactly making it easy on us.”

A fair point, he supposed.

Dumah sighed quietly, a new wave of fatigue tugging at his bones, and idly he watched the liquid in the tube enter his arm. Hated that this was how he was meant to survive, how his existence had to continue. With dependence.

The hole in his mind broke wider and suddenly all he wanted was to drink. Drink like every other being did, on his own without the legitimate need for help. He could even see a pitcher of water just to the side, a prize just waiting for him.

But the muzzle. The _damned_ muzzle.

“You know, if you’re thirsty you _can_ have a drink,” the princess said, torturing him by pouring some water into a cup and moving it closer. “It’s not poisoned.”

It was all Dumah could do to drag his eyes away from the temptation, to ignore the need burning in his unused mouth or the way his throat squeezed. The Altean Princess’s frown grew.

“Then how are you supposed to eat? You’ll have to take that off at some point, if only for that.”

Dumah blamed it on his fatigue, but when he couldn’t stop himself from glancing away, perhaps he’d given away too much. To his surprise, it wasn’t the Altean woman who understood. It was Hunk.

The Yellow Paladin’s brow furrowed, and although he didn’t move closer, his answer was correct.

“Wait a minute. Are you wearing that thing because you want to?”

The look he gave the large warrior was cool, but there was no point in hiding it now. That creature was surprisingly perceptive it seemed.

“Well, why don’t you, you know,” Hunk said. “Just take it off?”

Or not.

Dumah stared at the yellow clad Paladin blandly, but it was obviously a question they were all wondering, now that it had been voiced. Very well.

He showed them.

Prepared as he was, it didn’t stop the overwhelming agony that left him blind and on the floor when he attempted to pry it off. It didn’t give, not even a little, and when he could finally see again the Altean Princess’s blue eyes were staring at him in distress, her hands wrapped around his wrists as if to stop him from trying again.

Jerking his wrists away, he only stared at all of them and saw that they now understood, and very clearly.

“So that thing’s booby-trapped?” Lance gaped. “But why?”

“There’s only one way to find out. Coran?” the Black Paladin said. “Is there any way to remove it?”

The Altean male approached the terminal slowly. Dumah glared, still catching his breath, but this Coran only lifted his hands. “Have no fear. I’m quite technically minded. If you’ll give me just a tick to examine the object?”

Admittedly, Dumah appreciated the fact the Altean hadn’t called the muzzle exactly what it was. He glowered but slowly tilted his head for Coran’s view. Not enough to put the other in his blind spot, but enough he might get a look. The Altean nodded professionally before moving closer.

It was a quiet moment of examination before the Altean said, “Hmm, this is odd. It appears that it’s quintessence that is locking the mechanism tighter than a moharvrika silsach. It’s also what’s causing those nasty shocks!”

“Quintessence?” the princess breathed, and Dumah wondered how long it might take him to escape. Likely before they were able to tell him anything relevant about the situation at the rate this was progressing.

“Yes, quintessence,” Coran agreed.

“Then how do we unlock it?”

_You don’t,_ Dumah couldn’t help but think. It was only ever removed when he was unconscious. He didn’t even know how it came off.

“Well, with quintessence of course,” Coran replied as if it was the most obvious answer, and maybe it was. His collar had been quintessence activated. What if the muzzle was as well? His eyes widened and the Altean woman straightened.

“What do I need to do?”

“I can’t be one hundred percent certain, but I believe all you need to do is activate the latch located at the back. In theory, it should pop right off.”

“Just like that collar did,” Hunk said, putting it together before he winced at his words and glanced uneasily at Dumah. “Sorry.”

Dumah hardly heard the Paladin, not when his eyes abruptly locked on the Altean Princess as she lifted her hand. It glowed, and the strong quintessence he felt radiated from her fingers as they moved toward his scalp. Even from this distance, he could feel its quality. Cool. Smooth.

Regardless of the fact that she’d done it once before with his collar, it had happened so quickly he’d hardly had time to do anything other than panic at the prospect of being severely punished for its attempted removal. By the time he realized it, the collar was off and it didn’t matter anymore.

But now that there was time, the feel of quintessence moving toward him, no matter how different it was from the High Priestess’s, made a primal part of him clench. Dumah barely had the energy to remain conscious but he spent it easily to twist space to a safer position across the room, tearing himself away from the life-support. He glowered at her, dared her to approach because what if this was all a lie? He’d escaped the High Priestess and the druids, but hadn’t he found a new witch in exchange? If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that no one used quintessence without harming. Nothing in his memory proved otherwise. What if this was just an opportunity for her to put her own spell on him?

The prospect made his fingers jolt with quintessence just waiting to be unleashed.

Predictably her guardians jumped in reaction, weapons manifesting, but they didn’t do anything when the princess ordered them to stop. Her hands once again normal, she raised them placatingly toward him.

“We will not harm you. I will not harm you,” she said calmly. “I only want to help.”

She risked a step forward, and infuriated he lifted a hand. Purple energy crackled around his fingertips in warning. He’d been fooled all his life; he would not start now. _Would not._

“Please calm down,” the Altean said after she’d stopped. “Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Princess,” the Black Paladin said. “We don’t know anything about him except that he was your guard when you were captured.”

“And a victim of the Galra,” she argued firmly. “He let me go. He abandoned the Galra the moment he could.”

“I’m with Shiro on this one,” Keith said. “It could be a trick. A trap. We should get rid of him while we have the chance.”

“And let the Galra recapture him?” the Altean argued, her eyes still holding Dumah’s. “You saw where we found him. The state he was in.”

“Well, maybe he was locked away for a good reason?” Lance suggested, and Dumah’s gaze turned cold. The hole in him seethed and he realized how useless this was. Pointless. He needed to go, weak or not. Mentally he reached for quintessence, intent on leaving, but a wave of weakness left him stumbling and disoriented. His body was once again giving out despite what he desired, and he cursed himself for his vulnerability as he collapsed, heart hammering and vision blurred.

A white-clad figure raced to his side and he hated the princess for not only easing him upright but also for the strength to lift his pathetic body up and back onto the table despite the warnings of her Paladins. Dumah breathed hard through his nose and lied to himself that it wasn’t because of panic. That it wasn’t because he was at the mercy of yet another being wielding quintessence. Who knew what she would do to him while he was like this? Enslave him, as the High Priestess had, despite freeing him? Use him? Force him to kill?

To his utter surprise she did none of that. All she did was ensure he wasn’t at risk of falling again before withdrawing her hands, keeping them well away when she could use them to do whatever she wanted to him in this state.

Why didn’t she?

They stared each other down as he struggled to regain his breath and clear his addled mind, and irritatingly she waited for him. She only spoke when he narrowed his eyes, demanding an answer.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” the princess said, chin up and voice filled with honesty. “But I _can_ remove that for you. Don’t you want it removed?”

Dumah glowered. Of course he wanted it gone. It was the thing that kept him dependent. It was the thing that limited him and helped make him the weapon of the High Priestess. He wanted it _off_. But what she was asking for, trust … he wasn’t sure he was capable of that.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t even the odds.

Before anyone could stop him, he snatched her wrist, gripping it tight and reinforcing the hold with quintessence while also allowing the crackling threat of lightning to build there too. He didn’t let it go though even if the show caused the entire room to once again promise deadly force if he so much as twitched. But the Altean Princess only lifted her free hand, never taking her eyes away from his. Those blue eyes were hard and intelligent. They understood.

“Don’t worry,” she told the others. “We must learn to trust each other, after all.”

“He’s about to zap you!” the Green Paladin argued. “How is that trust?”

The princess didn’t respond. Instead she summoned that cooler, smoother quintessence. Involuntarily his hold tightened. The crackle of lightning grew louder but she didn’t flinch. She paused and waited, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

He took a slow breath, several slow breaths as he felt out the situation, but eventually he gave the slightest of nods. Tilting his head just enough to expose the back, he was ready to unleash a current that would kill her if she did _anything_ other than what she’d promised.

“Okay, here we go,” she said, steadying herself, and her cool energy curled along the muzzle’s clasp. His muscles tensed. He waited for punishing feedback. For the procedure to fail, or worse, for her to break her promise.

But it didn’t happen.

What did happen in that tense moment was nothing more than a cooling sensation at the back of his scalp. Then, for the first time, he felt a faint click and then … slack.

Dumah was so surprised that he didn’t respond at all as the muzzle that had locked his jaw shut for so long slowly sucked away from his skin and fell with a soft thud into his lap. His skull felt so much lighter — too light — and its loss made his head ache and the skin that had been covered feel chilled to the point of discomfort. But there it was, black and heavy and unwanted in his lap. He touched it with his fingers. He didn’t even realize he’d let the Altean go.

It was off. He couldn’t believe it.

Dumah stared at the woman who’d kept her word, but his stunned mind coiled again as he took in her horrified face.

“What on Altea,” the princess breathed as she stared at the part of him he’d never known before. The look of shock, of outrage in her eyes put him on guard and it took him longer than he cared to admit to realize that it wasn’t directed at him, necessarily. Even the rest had the same look. The small one swallowed.

“Is that … there’s no way.”

The Black Paladin’s lips pressed thin and a quick look of pain, understanding, and sympathy Dumah could not understand crossed his eyes. “Yeah, Pidge. You’re not imagining this.”

Curiously he touched the lower half of his face for the first time. He traced the edges where the muzzle had climbed over his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, then just before his ears and down along the line of his jaw to lock his mouth shut. Dumah felt dirty skin and sunken cheeks. Finally he moved inward and felt his chapped, thin lips and understood why they were all looking at him like a monster.

They were sewn shut.

Oh. It explained the tugging he’d felt on occasion.

The room exploded.

“Why are his lips sewn shut? Who _does_ that to someone? This only happens in-in horror movies!”

“But they muzzled him! They didn’t need—”

“What do we do? How do we …?”

Dumah slid a finger along the thick thread piercing his lips. Felt the holes just above the sensitive skin he’d never felt before. It was mesmerizing, fascinating, and truly horrible. Yet another barrier barring him from true independence.

Something had to be done about it.

“We could just … cut the strands. You can do that, right?” the Red Paladin said. “They sewed his mouth shut for a reason. I want to know what it is.”

“I’m not sure it’s that simple, Keith,” the small one, Pidge, said. “I’m getting strange readings from the thread. I don’t think it’s your ordinary run of the mill fiber. It’s radiating energy. I think—”

“It’s quintessence,” the princess breathed, her eyes flicking to his. “More quintessence. Why did the witch do this to you?”

The silence that fell in the room at the question was unnerving, and he hated that the best he could do was look away. He didn’t know. He didn’t have an answer. He hadn’t even known about the stitches.

“Well,” the princess said, voice going firm with vindication. “I’m taking them out. What’s been done to you is horrid, and if you will allow me, I can help you again.” She didn’t wait for him to respond, only looked to the other Altean. “Coran, something to cut them.”

The other Altean’s eyes were tight but he moved at her command. “I’ll see what we’ve got, but I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Dumah, on the other hand, had seen the High Priestess use such quintessence-infused thread designed to be strong and unbreakable. The only thing Dumah had ever seen cut through them was a special pair of quintessence-infused shears, and if handled incorrectly, the thread could explode while being cleaved.

But they didn’t know that, especially since Coran was reaching for a variety of metal and ceramic medical utensils.

Dumah knew he would die one day, but what vaporous amount of pride he possessed decided that it wouldn’t be this way. He would not let their ignorant attempts at helping him ultimately be his end, not after everything that had happened.

And besides. He was thirsty, and there was water there. More than anything, he wanted the freedom to nourish himself again, if he’d ever had it at all.

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Shiro said before his eyes widened. “No, you can’t be thinking—don’t!”

Dumah didn’t listen. He merely slipped his fingers under the threads and wrenched.

The pain was about what he’d expected but it was not the worst he had ever suffered. It was a new pain, given that his lower face was the one place on his body which had escaped direct abuse, although clearly not at the beginning where his memories didn’t reach anymore. Either way, he merely gritted his teeth to prevent them from giving tiny chatters in response to the new pain he silently endured. The threads wouldn’t be cut, but he trusted his body to provide the give and weakness needed for removal.

It was over before anyone could stop him, and the riot they made afterward was what almost undid him. Coran and the blue and green Paladins screamed, the yellow one fainted, the red one stared in disbelief, the black watched with a pale and pinched face that boasted both understanding and recognition, and the princess gasped in shock as she staggered back. Frankly, Dumah didn’t blame her. Now that the stitches were out, blood was pouring everywhere from the wounds and filling his mouth with the most intense taste of metal he’d ever experienced before. His lips trembled, but he hardly felt it now that the initial flare of agony had passed. Idly he tossed the glistening purple thread on the medical stand before reaching for the water.

His actions must have broken the princess out of her shock because suddenly she surged forward, snatching his hand before he could touch the cup.

“No!” she exclaimed. “Your wounds—”

A flash of fire raced through his body and he snatched his hand away before glaring at her with a look that promised if she attempted to stop him one more time, he would attack.

It was good judgment on her part that she’d stopped, even if she glared back fearlessly.

“You’ve just ripped out stitches. Your lips are in ruins,” she said, her cheeks pale and her voice strained. “If you won’t stop because of the pain, then listen to reason. If you try to drink as your lips are now, you will only choke on your own blood. Is that what you want?”

Despite the thirst and raw need that had driven his actions this far, he paused because she had a point. He wanted the taste of clean water in his mouth, and admittedly there was nothing but blood, the first and only thing he’d ever tasted. That he could remember tasting.

And if the water was anything like the way that small pool on Olkarion had smelled, if it was as life-giving as that, then for that alone he would listen. Slowly Dumah placed the cup back on the stand. The princess’s shoulders relaxed, and she smiled with relief. “Good. Coran. Please get bandages so we can stop the bleeding. Pidge, draw some painkillers. Hopefully the damage isn’t too severe—”

“You know,” Keith said uncomfortably. “I really don’t think you should be touching them like that.”

Dumah wasn’t listening to anything the others were saying. He didn’t care what they were saying. He wanted to taste the water and that meant he needed to stop bleeding.

That was well within his abilities.

With a brush of his fingers over his torn lips, he spared a bit of the scant quintessence he had left to fix the damage he’d caused. The burn was familiar, and after so much change he was almost grateful for the sharp sting that blazed along his nerves. In moments the torn flesh knitted together and the inflammation died down. Blood stopped flowing and before long he dropped his hand away so he could wipe his bloodied but whole and undamaged lips against the back of his forearm. A trail of crimson followed the motion along with the persistent tingle newly healed nerves always left him with.

Blessed silence filled the room.

Reaching for the cup, he swallowed the blood in his mouth as best he could before tentatively, clumsily, placing the edge of the cup against his lips. He’d only ever watched others do this, could not remember doing this himself, but if children could do it, so could he.

Tipping nothing more than a trickle in, he let the cool liquid slide along his lips, moistening them even as several drops slipped down his chin. It was enough though, enough to part these new muscles and let just a little slip against teeth he’d hardly known were there. The water soon traveled along his dust-dry tongue where it mixed with the remnants of blood, thinning it out, covering everything before it all slipped to the back of his throat and he swallowed. Dumah took a slow breath through his nose, pleased with the tiny success before he tried for a little more.

His jaw, despite having the muzzle removed and the stitches pulled, remained locked tight, but his lips at least moved just enough. Although his mouth still tasted of blood, the overwhelming clarity of the water was pure against his tongue. The water swept everywhere, moistening his parched mouth before he swallowed again, more quickly this time. Eager to feel the same sensation rush down his throat and spread throughout his stomach.

He realized his mistake when he tried to breathe at the same time, and although he managed to swallow the water down, it was followed by a violent series of close-mouthed coughs as he struggled to clear his lungs.

“Be careful, you must slow down!” the princess exclaimed, spurred into action by his own clumsiness. But when he glared at her, moving the cup close against his chest, she stopped again and frowned. “Let us help you.”

Dumah ignored her and turned his attention back to the cup of water. There was so much left but now that he’d consumed even the tiniest amount that he had, his stomach felt filled for the first time in memory. It was so … different. The sensation was almost uncomfortable. And yet …

And yet he still wanted more. No matter how clumsy or uncomfortable the attempt was.

“She’s right,” Shiro said, approaching slowly, hands lifted. Dumah shifted his glare toward him. “I’m going to guess you haven’t had solids, or even liquids orally in a long time. Right? Take it from me. I may not have gone through what you’ve gone through, but I was a captive of the Galra too. You need to go slow.”

Dumah studied the man with a critical eye. Took in the visible scarring, the Galran prosthetic, his bulk.

But what made him believe was the look in the Black Paladin’s eyes. Haunted.

How many of his sacrifices had sported that same look?

Relaxing ever so slightly, he gave the slightest of nods before going slow as suggested, and carefully took a few more successful sips before setting the cup aside. The freshness of the water lingered on his tongue, moistened his lips. His stomach felt so full.

But he’d filled it on his own. Of his own volition. He could water himself now. In time he’d be able to nourish himself too. The ports in his arms were useless now. He was independent of life-support. _Free_.

And abruptly he realized that he was tired. Too tired.

Awareness flashed across Shiro’s face. “Hey, are you all right?”

Dumah’s eyes rolled and he slipped into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And his mouth is freeee! He's with Allura and the paladins! He's safe! He's paranoid and vulnerable and in need of *so much help* and I don't know about you but I'm excited for next week's chapters and I hope you are too.
> 
> See you on Monday!


	7. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been editing ahead as I've been posting (I'm currently editing chap 15 btw), and before I post each chapter I reread it and I *cannot wait* to share what's coming in future chapters. Loads of fun in store I hope/think you'll all like, but until then, here's another fun chapter too!
> 
> No TW's this time :] Let's give our boy a break from the pain for a bit. I hope you enjoy!

Sleep cradled him, but not for as long as he’d have liked. Granted, he didn’t know what he liked after his time as the High Priestess’s weapon, but given the way his body ached and yearned, he suspected it was more than what he’d ever managed to steal for himself. Regardless, he felt more aware than he had been. Stronger than he had been. The dehydration and near death that had almost taken him a few quintants ago seemed to have receded. In truth, he felt better than he had in a long time.

His jaw, he realized, felt cold. And then he remembered.

Dumah sat up, a blanket slipping off his chest and onto the floor of a new room he’d never seen, but it was hard to focus on that when his hands were pressing against his face. Fingers dragged across his hollow cheeks, his sharp nails scraping against skin that was all but virginal to the touch. It almost burned, all the feeling, and the back of his head both ached and felt light from where the restraining straps weren’t digging into his skull. Slowly he reached behind, tracing the bands of flesh that were little more than scar-tissue where no hair grew. Tentatively he tried to open his jaw and managed a few millimeters before the muscles grew tight and refused to move much further without shaking.

But it had moved. There had been space between his teeth. The muzzle was gone. The stitches he’d never known about were out. There was nothing stopping him from self-sufficiency. This had to be a dream. But this dream was undeniably real.

And he knew, like it or not, he had the Altean Princess to thank for all of it.

Hunger gnawed at him, as did thirst, and despite the tube feeding him more liquids, there was a glass of water sitting next to him. Although he knew he should be more careful, should suspect poisoning or a drug, he couldn’t resist the need to drink on his own. His hands shook. Water spilled across his chin and down his chest but it didn’t matter, not when the clean taste slipped inside, moistening his throat and filling him with relief. He sighed. He’d never been so satisfied.

Setting the glass down like a treasure, he finally checked his surroundings and realized that he was in a simple bedroom, resting on the softest bed he’d ever experienced in the brightest, cleanest room he’d ever visited. If this was an Altean cell, he could hardly complain, especially compared to a Galra cell. But the fact that he was alone in an enclosed room did little to settle his nerves. Dumah got up, frowning at his lack of armor although his base-layer remained, the dark fabric clinging to his emaciated body. His boots were at the end of the bed, however, and after slipping into them, he tried the door.

He supposed he wasn’t surprised to find it locked. Truthfully, if it hadn’t been he’d have been more unnerved. At the very least, it was good practice on their part, even if it wouldn’t stop him.

What rest he’d had since his last moments of consciousness appeared to have done a great deal for his worn and tired body because it reacted far better than it usually did when it was pushed to the brink. His muscles moved smoothly. His thoughts almost felt kinder. Easier to focus.

Twisting space, he found himself on the other side of the door within a large, empty hallway in the same design the room he’d awoken in sported. His instant inclination was to slip into a shadow, but the vast emptiness made that impossible and left him feeling exposed. He would have felt better with his armor, but they’d clearly taken it from him. He’d have to find it, and soon.

But first he needed to gather some information. He knew just where he would find it.

Focusing, he felt that particular quintessence and shifted to a position near it, close but out of sight. He could sense the rest of the princess’s Paladins with her and the last thing he desired was to alert them of his presence.

He realized after a moment he needn’t have been concerned. They were arguing. And over the strangest, if concerning, thing.

“It’s me, the Galra are tracking us through me,” the princess said, arms crossed with a look of concern in her eyes. “It’s all that explains how they found us on Arus _after_ I awoke.”

“It … might be me,” Keith slowly said, causing everyone to stare.

“Why would it be you?” Lance asked.

Keith merely shrugged. “Zarkon might’ve … imprinted on me during our last fight.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “You know who I think it is? Our new pal, that’s who.”

“But the Galra have been following us since before we rescued him,” Pidge said. “It’s just as possible that it’s the Black Lion. We all know Zarkon has a strong connection with it. Every time he gets close, Shiro has to fight him for control.”

“It’s true,” Shiro agreed.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. No Paladin has ever had a connection strong enough to reach such distances,” Coran countered.

The debate continued, and as it did Dumah’s brow furrowed. They were concerned that they were being tracked by the Galra? Had he been ‘rescued’ only to be at risk of recapture?

That was the last thing he wanted.

“Well, it looks like Sleeping Beauty has finally woken up, even if he was supposed to be locked in his room,” Lance said, causing Dumah to freeze as all eyes fell on him. It appeared that the shadows of this castle were good at nothing but betrayal. “Good timing too. I’m sure _he_ can tell us how the Galra are following us.”

“We don’t know if it’s him they’re tracking,” the princess said quickly.

“He’s the obvious choice!”

“But not the only one,” she countered.

“Regardless, he should at least tell us what he knows. He was Haggar’s servant. He should know something about what they’ve been up to,” Keith said, crossing his arms before glowering at him. “Well? We saved your life. Allura saved it twice. You owe us, so get started. Tell us what you know.”

The room plunged into silence, all eyes on him, and although he could tell that some of the Paladins were uncomfortable with the rather aggressive tactic, they were all also thinking the same thing. And he didn’t blame them. In their position, he’d have wanted an answer as well.

But even if he had answers to give, when he opened his mouth, he realized in an instant one pivotal thing.

He had no idea how to speak.

He could do little more than impotently close his mouth and remain silent, wondering how long it would take them to deem him uncooperative and either confine or attack him. Not long, if he had to guess.

“Well?” Keith demanded, his volatile temper igniting. “You can’t keep giving us the silent treatment like this. That muzzle and those stitches are gone now. So start talking”

“Actually, Keith,” Coran said, sidling a glance at Dumah before looking at the rest of them. “He can. I mean, he can keep being silent. He doesn’t have a choice.”

Dumah’s brow furrowed, but his confusion was mirrored in all of them. The princess broke the silence.

“What do you mean, Coran?”

“While you were asleep Mr. Good Druid, I took the opportunity to run a few diagnostics on you. I’m sorry, usually I ask for consent first, but the situation is difficult and we needed to be sure there weren’t any other surprises hidden in or on you.”

Dumah’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like it, but he understood the reasoning. It was a sound decision, and although reluctant, he gave the male Altean a single short nod.

“We’ll all be happy to know that so far it seems you’re as clean as a whovati slink cave — which is about the best concerning your whole medical situation if we’re being honest.”

“Coran,” the princess said, getting to the point. “Has it found anything?”

Coran sighed, looking at her before looking at Dumah. His expression was reluctant but the Altean still met his eyes. “Your larynx. It’s … well, it’s not gone but it might as well be. It’s been cauterized by what bears the hallmarks of quintessent searing.” He looked at the rest of the group before saying. “Our friend here _literally_ cannot speak.”

“Wait a minute,” Lance said. “Are you saying that not only did they muzzle him and sew his mouth shut, but they also burned his voice box?” The Blue Paladin stared in horror. “Why would anyone _do_ that? What were they trying to stop you from saying?”

Dumah wasn’t looking at Lance. Dumah wasn’t looking at any of them. Although he’d never given any thought to what he might say should he ever gain the ability to speak, he’d always assumed that he _could_ speak. That he would speak, one day, even if he had to learn how. He’d never once entertained the possibility that he would not be able to at all. That the reality was that he could not … and would never be able to. Ever.

He did not realize he’d touched his throat until he felt his fingers, and when he did he ripped them away. Everyone had watched him make the gesture and he glowered at them. The princess’s eyes filled with realization and pity.

“You didn’t know, did you?”

_No_ , he said, or he tried to say, but as Coran had said, the word did not form. He tried again, then again, but nothing came out but a rush of agitated air. The flames of fury burned the pit of his chest as he thought of the High Priestess — no, the _witch_ — and hated her. Hated her for everything she’d done to him. Hated her for everything she’d stolen from him and all the things he still did not know.

“Was there anything else, Coran?” the princess eventually asked, her voice subdued. The other Altean gave a small shrug.

“There might be. The computer is still analyzing him, but we’ll have a full idea a little later when it’s done. The scan will tell us if there’s anything else hiding in him we don’t know about.”

“So he _could_ be the one leading the Galra here.”

“We really shouldn’t jump to conclusions, Lance,” Shiro sighed.

But Dumah _was_ jumping to conclusions because he had not come all this way and done everything he had just so he could be recaptured again. His muzzle may have been removed, his stitches pulled, and he now had options about how he maintained his body, but the bottom line was that he was still _weak._ He needed more time to recover. That or an alternative to his current situation.

While stealing a ship was on his list of options, the scan Coran had mentioned stopped him. What if he _was_ how they were being tracked? He wouldn’t put it past the witch to do something so insidious as plant a tracker in him. Because if that was the case it wouldn’t matter how far he ran, he’d always be found in the end. While he thought it was unlikely given how intimate he was with his own body, he hadn’t known about the quintessent scarring preventing him from speaking. It made him wonder what else he didn’t know.

But while he was an option in how the Galra Empire might be tracking them, he was not the only one. He didn’t know the reasons why the Altean Princess or the Red Paladin were concerned they might be why they were being followed, but Shiro had mentioned his Voltron Lion had a connection with the Emperor.

And he knew how strong the Emperor could be. Especially with the witch and her Druids on his side, amplifying his power. If there was a way they were being tracked across the universe, his bet was on the Black Lion. He needed to see it, study it. Quintessence would reveal the answer.

Before he could investigate, however, the princess and two of her Paladins approached him, and he didn’t need to wonder why.

“While I’m glad you’re awake, unfortunately until this mystery is solved we must keep you under guard for the time being. You may walk around the common areas, but you must do so with myself or one of the Paladins. That, or please remain in your room. We’ll be happy to show you the way back.”

His eyes narrowed, but what surprised him was that he could feel his lips twitch downward. Unmuzzled as he was, every motion the lower half of his face made was like a foreign entity to him, a distraction.

It was like she knew because a small smile edged along her lips, and he glowered, trying not to let his lower face move at all.

“How about I show you around if you’re feeling stronger?” she said. “There’s plenty of places in the castle I’m willing to let you go—”

Dumah wasn’t interested. If they were at risk of being followed and attacked, what he wanted at the moment was his armor. He gestured to his body and waited. She stared uncomprehendingly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

He repeated the motion, then gestured to the rest of them, trying to make her understand and realized that he’d never had to do this before. He’d never been allowed to communicate, only obey, and any communication he’d been allowed were preset responses he had to choose from his forearm terminal. But standing like this in nothing but his base layer with no way to indicate his question, he felt inept and stupid.

And this would never change because he’d never be able to speak.

“I think he wants to know where his armor is,” Lance said, surprising him. Surprising them all. Dumah wasn’t the only one staring and Lance scoffed. “What? I know sign language, and, I mean that’s _not_ sign language, but this guy can’t speak, and I know if _I_ woke up somewhere practically naked, I’d want to know where my clothes were too. I’m just putting two and two together.” Lance eyed him. “That _is_ what you’re asking, isn’t it?”

Slowly Dumah nodded, unsure how to respond after being understood so easily.

“I hope you’ll forgive us for taking it. We also ran tests on it to check for anything the Galra might be using to track us,” the princess said.

“They’re clean, by the way,” Pidge said, crossing her arms and peering at him through her glasses with a healthy edge of suspicion he wasn’t offended by. “I’ll bring them by your room if you want. If that’s all right with you, Allura.”

“I don’t see what harm armor could do,” the Altean said. “You’ve verified it’s merely armor. I don’t see why not.”

It wasn’t but that hardly mattered given that its only special abilities were to enhance his control over his own quintessence when he used it. So he nodded.

What else was there to do?

* * *

Once the princess showed him the way to his room, he didn’t leave it, especially once Pidge brought his armor. He spent vargas inspecting each piece for tampering but was satisfied to find nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Dumah put his armor on and felt safe. Protected.

The only difference was that he had no helmet since it had been a function of the muzzle, and he was never putting it back on if he had a choice. But walking around with his head exposed sounded like disaster in the making, and while Hunk and Pidge stood guard outside his door, that did not stop him from leaving his room – not that he'd had the strength to be out for long. He was still recovering, and even the scant vargas he’d been awake dragged at a body that didn’t know what to do with the fact that it wasn’t being tortured. It wanted to rest. Fatigue pulled at him ruthlessly, begged him to sleep and he hated the demand, resisting it as long as his pride would allow.

Long enough, at least, to find another helmet that worked with his armor, and to investigate the Black Lion.

While the white helmet similar to the Paladin’s in design had been an unexpected though appreciated find, the Black Lion had been his main interest given his theory. It had taken him less than a dobosh to know he was right when he felt the faint vein of unrelenting power at the heart of the machine, tinged with an icy undertone that made him want to run. He could feel the Black Paladin’s connection as well, but there was no denying that it was weak in comparison. This _was_ how they were being followed.

He had no idea how to make them understand.

It was a problem, one that had to be solved soon, but it was riddled with its own difficulties. Even if he could tell them, why would they believe him? If their positions were reversed, he would not. There would always be doubt about him; most of the Paladins already thought he was the cause. Somehow he had to convince them beyond doubt that he was not the one to blame. To show them that it was the Black Lion.

While tempting to simply abandon them, he _wanted_ to know what Coran’s scans turned up. _Needed_ to know, and until he did he wasn’t ready to leave, not when the same doubt would plague him if he didn’t. After returning to his room with no one the wiser, he considered his options. Mentally ran scenarios.

Out of the corner of his awareness, he felt a dim flash of cool quintessence moving toward the hanger bay and remembered she was concerned that she might be the cause as well. Then he felt the heated, agitated energy of the Red Paladin and recalled he’d thought the same.

Then he knew what to do.

Twisting space, he manifested by them just as they were arguing about what they were doing there and that they were going to manipulate the equation to see just who was responsible for drawing the Empire. If the Empire went after them, one of them was the culprit. If it didn’t, then they were absolved of blame.

Dumah was here to do the same.

The princess jumped and stifled a shout when he appeared out of the shadows, and Keith didn’t hesitate to lift his bayard Dumah’s way.

“What are you doing?” Keith demanded. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He eyed them both pointedly and Keith scowled.

“That’s none of your business.”

“It might be his business, the same as it’s ours,” the Altean said slowly. She glanced at him. “Are you trying to prove your innocence?”

Dumah merely twisted space into the ship they were going to use and waited. The Paladin didn’t like it and wanted him out, but both Keith and the princess were sneaking out, which meant they didn’t want the others knowing. If either put up much more of a fuss, then they would be found out.

And clearly they did not want that to happen.

“I don’t like this,” Keith said angrily as they both boarded the ship with him, sealing the hatch and taking off. “If we’re caught—”

Dumah only shook his head because he knew they wouldn’t be caught. It wasn’t any of them after all. He just had to hope that things fell the right way, and while yes, it would put this castle and the other Paladins in danger, that was hardly his concern. Even if the Empire _did_ come, then the others would fight them off or he’d be well out of reach.

Even the prospect of Coran’s scan didn’t stop him from desiring escape first and foremost, above all else.

It was a quiet journey. For vargas they sat in silence and waited.

* * *

Dumah resisted the urge to feel vindicated when exactly what he’d hoped for happened. Even with all three of them gone and far from Voltron and Dumah utterly unaware of where they were, the Castle of Lions and the rest of the Voltron Paladins had been located and attacked by the Galra. All three of them were proven innocent. He was innocent.

But they still did not _understand_ why it was happening. Neither the princess or her Red Paladin could comprehend how it was possible that they weren’t the source of their problems and how the Black Lion was. They were so sure the distance was too far.

And he got his chance to prove his point when their ship exploded as they tried to return, leaving them stranded and without communication in the middle of space.

“What are we supposed to do?” the Altean said. “We need to get back!”

“I don’t know,” Keith said. “It’s not as if I can summon the Red Lion. It’s too far away.”

Dumah had promptly glowered and tapped Keith’s chest. He _could_ summon the Red Lion, even from so far away. They shared a connection that could not be separated by distance, the same way Zarkon had a connection with the Black Lion. Dumah could feel the bond. _It was there_.

Keith had been hesitant and so had the princess, but eventually she said, “What if it’s possible, Keith?”

It seemed the question was enough to spur Keith to try, and soon enough – faster than Dumah had believed, frankly – the Red Lion was there before them. Evidence given and point quietly made, Dumah had waited with the Altean Princess as the Galra were repelled. They were safe again, for the time being, safer at least now that they knew _how_ this was happening.

But it still left the question of what was to be done.

They stood in an uneasy group in front of the Black Lion, Dumah included though it wasn’t because they’d invited him. They’d demanded he stay behind, but he’d blatantly ignored them, twisting space and waiting for them to meet _him_ before the great machine. And they did, though it seemed that despite his actions a few of them were still wary.

But strangely enough, not the Black Paladin.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Shiro said. “That’s why you left with the others, isn’t it? That’s why you helped Keith.”

Dumah had not expected the non-judgmental tone and found himself giving a slight nod in response. He wasn’t used to others understanding him or his intentions, and he definitely didn’t know what to do with what appeared to be honest gratitude. But this strange creature was giving it to him.

He didn’t want to examine too much what his wayward emotions felt about this.

But since it seemed they now understood what was going on, the conversation had predictably developed to determine how to stop the Emperor from reaching the Black Lion. He waited to see if they had a solution.

“You’ll have to develop your connection with the Black Lion, Shiro,” the princess said. “It’s the only way.”

“I know, but I don’t think it’s as easy as spending time together, and I doubt it’s going to happen overnight,” Shiro replied. “This is an immediate problem, and the solution is going to take too long. The teleduv isn’t working and we’re sitting ducks right now.”

“Is there some way we can cut off Zarkon’s connection from Black?” Pidge asked the princess, considering. “I mean, now that we know he’s doing it, that gives us an advantage. We just have to stop him from making the connection.”

The princess frowned. “I wish there was a way, but to cut a quintessent connection like that, it’s contrary to everything I’ve ever learned about quintessence. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

Dumah’s thoughts went quiet as he stared at the princess, then before he could think too much about it, he lifted a hand toward the Black Lion, focused, and let his quintessence flow.

Everyone startled, as he’d expected, but he did not lift his eyes from the Black Paladin. Violet light curled around the massive machine, and within he could feel it’s particular quintessent energy, that of the Emperor’s and that of Shiro’s as well. He could feel the connections where the Black Lion reached toward both pilots.

Then he blocked them.

Shiro’s eyes widened and he stumbled, the method proving effective even if the others struggled to understand.

“Hey, what are you doing!” Keith demanded, reacting quickly and advancing with his bayard. “What are you doing to the Black Lion?”

“Whoa there, Good Druid. Don’t know what you’re doing but you probably shouldn’t be making any glowy-hands,” Hunk suggested uneasily. “Especially, uh, around the super war machine.”

“I knew it was a trick,” Lance snapped and even the Altean Princess looked taken aback. But before anyone could do anything else, Shiro stepped between him and the threats they all posed.

“No, wait! I … I think I know what he’s doing. It’s like you said, Pidge. He’s blocking the Black Lion.”

The princess looked stunned. “He’s blocking the Black Lion?”

“Yeah, the energy that connects me to it and that connects the Black Lion to Zarkon, it’s … well it’s not gone, I still know it’s there, but it’s like it’s not active anymore.” Shiro looked up at the machine. “It almost feels like Black’s sleeping. The connection’s very weak. Weak enough that maybe even Zarkon can’t use it?”

Dumah nodded. While the Altean couldn’t understand how to do this with quintessence, he was arguably a master after deca-phoebs serving the Emperor’s witch. Functionally, this was the exact same spell the High Priestess had used to contain his own abilities. The Black Lion’s abilities still worked within the containment field he was creating, but they did not outside it. Like his abilities had been blocked by the High Priestess, the Black Lion could not be used to lead Zarkon to them.

The Galra, for the time being, could not find them. The witch could not find him.

The princess stared at him before the most blinding smile he’d ever seen filled her face. He hadn’t seen a true smile in so long that for a moment he wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

But when he realized it, he couldn’t help but think it was dazzling.

“This could give us time to figure out how we’re going to replace the scaultrite lenses so we can get the teleduv working again,” Pidge said.

“And the time I need to improve my connection with the Black Lion,” Shiro added. The Black Paladin looked at Dumah. “With your help, we might finally be able to rest for a change.”

“It would be nice not to have to run,” Hunk agreed. “Get some shut-eye. Have a good night’s sleep. I’d _kill_ for that right now, you know what I mean?”

“Will you do it?” the princess asked him, voice hopeful and eyes alight. “Will you help us until we’re able to repair the ship and prevent Zarkon from tracking the Black Lion? We will keep you safe and help you however we can.”

Looking at her, at all of them as he carefully set the spell that would hold the Black Lion so he wouldn’t have to be present for it at all times, only some of the time, it struck him how terrible of an idea this was. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. The Emperor and the witch were after Voltron and the Black Lion. Sooner or later they would find them, which meant they would in turn find him. He should leave as soon as possible. That was the correct thing to do.

But he could not get the princess’s smile out of his mind. That, and he wanted answers. He needed to heal. So, almost without realizing it, he found himself nodding.

All around him the Paladins and the Alteans practically wilted with relief. They could relax now, and he was the one to thank. His strange, newfound emotions radiated something new, something he couldn’t remember feeling before. Something he almost wanted to ignore but found he couldn’t. It was small, but it was there.

Contentment.

It was almost overwhelming. He couldn’t decide if he liked the sensation or not.

Thankfully he was saved from deciding when something pinged and Coran gasped before quickly turning to him. “In all the excitement, I had to set an alarm to remind me, but the analysis I ran for you? The computer finally came up with the results and I,” he hesitated. Dumah arched a brow, mood turning serious in an instant. “Well, I thought we all might want to hear the news.”

“Well, Coran?” the princess said encouragingly. “Good news, I hope?”

“Oh, yes. Good news, yes. Definitely news.” Again, Coran seemed bothered. The male Altean always had confidence to spare, but this was uncharacteristic and Dumah _did not like it_. “Lots of … lots of news.”

“Something about that makes me think it’s not good news,” Keith muttered, but after the experience they’d had together, Dumah felt the caution from the Red Paladin had lessened somewhat. Coran waved his hands quickly.

“No, no! It’s good news, really! Mostly. Although there _is_ some bad news.” He eyed Dumah, lifting both hands to indicate a choice. “Which would you like to hear first?”

Dumah stared at Coran. What did it matter to him if the news was good or bad? He wanted to know what the computer had found, that was the bottom line. The princess gave him a sympathetic smile.

“How about we start with the bad news and work our way from there?”

“Honestly, Princess, I can’t say with any real certainty that I’ll be able to separate them. They’re kind of entangled, but as you wish.” Coran straightened, confidence filling him once again now that he’d been given direction from the princess. “I’ll start with the worst of it, then. This perhaps will make what we’ve seen so far make more sense, but our friend here?” Coran said, looking at Dumah with a strange expression he’d never seen before and couldn’t place. Somewhere between sadness and relief. “He’s half-Galra.”

“Shocker,” Lance quipped, rolling his eyes. Even Dumah was unsurprised by this rather underwhelming bit of information. There were only two ways Galra technology could be used, and that was if it interacted with other Galra tech, or if the person was Galra themselves. Although he could use his armor to interact with Galra systems, he’d certainly done so without it before.

The fact that he was only half-Galra, however, was rather interesting. Pidge was the one to voice his question.

“And the other half?”

“Um, well, you see—and trust me, it’s kind of hard to believe at first, but then it does make sense, even if it doesn’t _completely_ make sense—”

“Coran,” the princess said, breaking his rambling. “What did the computer find?”

Coran sighed, and Dumah couldn’t begin to guess what the other half of him was. He’d seen Galran half-breeds before, mongrels of many types who were treated lower. Above the rest of the universe, but hardly fit for Galran society. He could have been anything he supposed. He would not be surprised.

What Coran said shocked him.

“Altean, Princess. He’s half-Altean.”

The room had dropped into silence faster than anything Dumah had ever experienced, and it was punctuated as the princess sucked in a sharp breath. “What?”

“It’s true, Princess,” Coran said solemnly. “I ran the tests five times just to be sure. He’s half-Altean. It’s probably why he’s able to use quintessence like he does. It’s his Altean blood.”

For the first time, the Altean Princess looked pale but Dumah hardly noticed. He shook his head. It was impossible. All his memory he’d been told that the Alteans had been killed. These two Alteans were the only exceptions, all others had been destroyed by the Galra, and their memory was nothing to be desired. Weakness. Vile. Repulsive.

Yet, according to Coran’s scans, he was half-Altean. And there was no way the High Priestess could not have known that.

Then again, perhaps that was exactly why he’d been enslaved by her in the first place.

“Did you know?” the Altean Princess asked suddenly as she faced him. “Did you know you were—?”

Dumah’s jaw clenched, and he searched the darkness of his mind, prodded the fissure of emotion relentlessly which had driven him this far to forfeit an answer. He damn-well deserved it. But it did nothing, and for the first time in his long life he felt truly adrift. Lost. Even as a slave to the High Priestess, he’d known his place. Known what he was, even if that meant he was a monster. And even after he’d been freed, he’d at least known he was free. No matter what he had been, he’d been free. It had been enough. He hadn’t had to question much more than that.

But now that he was here on this Altean ship with creatures who might truly be able to fight the Emperor, he was finding out things about himself he’d never known. Things perhaps he’d never wanted to know at all.

“It’s, uh, more than that,” Coran continued awkwardly, and it was Hunk that voiced his confusion now.

“What could be more than finding out that there’s another Altean, and that he’s been a slave of the Galra all this time?” Dumah couldn’t stop the flinch that ripped through his body, and Hunk winced in apology. “Sorry.”

“The average Altean lifespan is roughly a few hundred deca-phoebs at best,” Coran said. “It’s only because the Princess and I were in stasis that we’ve survived this long. Otherwise, we’d have been dead ages ago. But our friend here?” He gestured to Dumah. “The computer estimates that he’s roughly ten thousand deca-phoebs old.”

Silence.

“Woah, wait a minute,” Lance said, eyes wide. “I’m not sure I heard you right. Did you say ten _thousand?_ ”

“Yes, Lance, I did,” Coran replied solemnly. “There’s no doubting it. You can’t fool the computer. I don’t know how it happened, but yes. He’s approximately ten thousand deca-phoebs old. Since the time of Altea.”

Horror flashed across the princess’s face. “And he’s been a slave to the Galra all this time?”

All eyes landed on him, and he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think. He knew he’d been old. He’d seen thousands of deca-phoebs pass. But ten thousand of them? Had he been … had he been a _slave_ for that long?

The nausea that curled in his stomach wasn’t from his hunger but because he didn’t know. The Altean Princess’s question was soft when she asked, but it carried for eternity into his mind.

“Who _are_ you?”

Dumah found himself looking at them all. They wanted to know. What they didn’t know was that he couldn’t answer them, not even if he had the ability to speak. It seemed like they were all staring at him. Like the entire universe was staring at him, and he felt vulnerable and sick.

Dumah’s gaze slid away, face tight and unable to hold their gazes. It was Shiro who broke the silence.

“You don’t know, do you? Did you even know it had been that long?”

With an air of brutal finality, Dumah shook his head once before twisting space around himself and stepping into the quiet, dark confines of his room where no one could see him. Alone he collapsed to his knees, claws digging into the floor, lips pulling into a snarl as emotions tore through him. He wondered if the knowledge was worth it, or if it would have been better to have never known all the ways the High Priestess had changed him or if there were any more secrets waiting to destroy him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhh, everyone knows he's half-Altean~ Wonder how that's going to change things?
> 
> See you Thursday!


	8. The Paladins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very excited about this chapter, it was very fun to write. I know that everyone's wanting the Lotura but before we focus on the budding romance, I thought it might be fun to see how he plays with the other paladins too. I hope you enjoy!

Much as he wanted to stay in his room and never come out, pretend that he did not exist because it was all so much – too much – he wasn’t a coward and he had a job to do.

Still, he’d held off for as long as possible, because what Dumah needed was peace. Silence. No, he needed peace of _mind_ , and right now he had none of that. His thoughts kept circling back to everything he’d learned. That he’d been a slave. He’d been the witch’s slave and tool. He’d been that for likely _thousands_ of deca-phoebs.

And he was half-Altean.

He didn’t even know what to think about that.

Undoubtedly, it was because of all these revelations – and the assurances of Coran that he was clean of trackers – that when he finally emerged, the environment between him and the rest of the castle had changed. It was still tentative, and he wouldn’t have called it trusting exactly, but it _was_ different. Like they were more willing to accept his presence. There were no more guards at his door, and they seemed at least willing to help him when he needed something.

“Please,” the princess said when she’d approached him after he was done recharging the spell on the Black Lion. “I want you to feel comfortable here. _We_ want you to feel comfortable. Whatever you need, please let us help you.”

He hadn’t known what to think of that. He didn’t know what to think of any of this and suspected that all of this good grace was in part because of his blood. Because he was part-Altean.

And if it was … perhaps, for now, it was not a bad thing. As far as he could tell, they were not interested in enslaving or harming him. They were giving him access to life-support until he was strong enough to take care of himself. He was repaying them by blocking the Galra. He had his own room and was unwatched. He could go where he pleased, do as he pleased if he pleased.

It was more freedom. More freedom than he’d ever had, let alone around others.

The emotions dwelling deep in his chest slowly began to ease.

* * *

Existing with the Paladins of Voltron now that he was no longer considered an enemy was a … strange experience, and if he had not needed them for his recovery or the safe place they promised, he would have left. He quickly learned they were loud. Confusing. Vulnerable. Undisciplined. Everything he’d despised.

And despite that, he still stayed.

Part of the lie he told himself about why he did not leave was that he had not mastered eating, not to the extent he thought he needed to feasibly support himself without resorting to a permanent diet of broths and liquids. Truthfully, it was perhaps one of the most frustrating aspects of his new existence. His mouth was free. He could nourish himself. He _should_ be able to nourish himself.

But his jaw was too weak to properly chew solids, and his shrunken, forgotten stomach betrayed him every chance it could, refusing to contain even the mildest of liquids, water being its one, if sometimes reluctant, exception. And that was nothing to say about the temperamental nature of his tongue. Before he left the Castle of Lions, he needed to be capable of consuming sustenance on his own enough to maintain his body. He was only managing now because he still resorted to intravenous nutrients and calories since it was quicker and more efficient.

While everyone slept, however, he practiced.

In the middle of the night when he was certain everyone was asleep, he stole away to the kitchen. The first night he’d done this, he’d done little more than stand in the center of the strange room, feeling lost. He’d never needed to be in a place like this. He didn’t even know what was edible and what was not.

He took special care noting what the others consumed, particularly the Alteans given that he was at least part-Altean, though it appeared the humans ate much the same with Hunk as their chef. There were some things he knew immediately he would not be able to eat. There was too much substance. It required a muscular strength his jaws did not yet possess.

The ‘food-goo’ however, seemed promising. At first.

For several nights now he’d tasted and sampled several of the goo’s and although less solid than most of the foods prepared, it was still exceptionally substantial once it landed in his disused stomach. The organ retaliated, always, and no matter what he tried or how little of it he consumed, it was always too much. The only tactic he had was to endure and get used to it. There wasn’t much choice.

He was continuing his grueling attempts when one evening he found he was not the only one in the kitchen. Upon twisting space and appearing, he’d accidentally caught the Yellow Paladin as he pressed something into his mouth. A yelp escaped Hunk when he noticed Dumah.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Hunk said as he quickly shut one of the cabinets that stored the food. He appeared to be as flustered as Dumah felt, not anticipating encountering anyone at this time of night, least of all for food. “I was just, uh, getting something to eat to, you know. Tide me over till breakfast?”

Dumah stared at the stocky human, hands full of food. Food that tore at his own hunger and made him instantly regret coming. Dumah turned, reaching for his quintessence to twist space and return to his quarters when Hunk’s voice swelled out quickly, causing him to pause.

“You a midnight muncher too?”

His brow furrowed as he glanced over his shoulder at the Paladin, confused by the term — one of the humans many confusing native colloquiums — and Hunk gave him a quick, reassuring grin.

“Yeah, me too. I’m always hungry, and I mean, everyone knows I like to eat but … I don’t like them to know that I’m, you know, _always_ eating. Or that I would if I could.”

Dumah continued to stare, trying to understand what Hunk was attempting to say. When the human paused and the answer still wasn’t forthcoming, Dumah’s gaze dropped and he turned once again to leave, reaching for the twist in space—

“I mean that I get it,” Hunk said rapidly, recapturing his attention, and when he gave the Paladin one more opportunity, he saw that the jovial look Hunk usually sported was gone and replaced with an unexpected solemn one. “The others don’t notice, but I have. You’re pretending to everyone that you aren’t hungry and that you’re satisfied with the nutrition capsules you take by IV, but I’ve seen the way you look at food. It’s the same way I used to whenever someone talked me into a diet I didn’t want to be on. You’re _hungry_.”

Dumah sighed. When confronted like this, and by the oddly perceptive Hunk no less, he felt no reason to lie.

“Food’s a primal thing,” Hunk said. “If you haven’t eaten in as long as we think, food’s probably overwhelming, right? Your tongue’s not used to it. Your stomach’s definitely not used to it, and then there’s the whole problem of your unused digestive system. Even baby food would be rough on you—not that I’m calling you a baby or anything like that!”

Dumah let his glare cool at Hunk’s immediate defense. He gave the young human credit for persisting despite it.

“You’ve been trying foods while everyone’s been asleep, right? Just bits here and there, trying to find something. Don’t worry, I don’t think the others have noticed, they don’t care about food like I do.” Hunk arched a brow hopefully. “Have you found anything?”

Although it was tempting to give no answer, to keep his silence and leave regardless of the fact that Hunk’s suspicions were right … he found his gaze had slid away, and that appeared to be answer enough.

“I thought that might be the case. That’s why — and I hope you don’t mind that I kinda took it on myself — but I’ve been trying to come up with something. Did you come by last night?”

Dumah frowned but relented, giving the human a small nod.

“Did you try the crackers or the gray food-goo?”

He nodded to both.

“Which did you prefer?”

Neither. But if he had to choose? Slowly he lifted two fingers.

Hunk nodded considering before asking another question.

“Was the taste too strong, and could you hold it down?”

Dumah looked away again.

“Okay, so still too strong and still no solids. Liquids or near liquids still, but that’s okay! We can do this.”

Dumah wished he had Hunk’s optimism. Vomiting daily had damaged his considerably.

But one thing he had to give the human credit for was his passion, because now that Dumah was opening up about what he had and had not been able to eat, Hunk’s disposition grew pensive. The food he’d originally gathered to eat remained untouched and forgotten as he considered Dumah’s problem.

“All right, I think I’ve got it, but I’m going to need to do a little research later to see if I’m right. Originally I made a few more things for you to try, but after this I’m not sure your stomach can handle them yet. You’re welcome to try, but you’re probably not going to get much further than you did with the gray food-goo.”

Dumah’s lips pursed, answer enough. He’d resort to intravenous infusions first.

“Come back tomorrow night, okay? About this time. I should have something better for you. Until then,” Hunk searched his pockets and pulled something out. “Try chewing on this. It’s called gum. You don’t eat it — well you can but, ew, no. You can chew it, and chew it for a while. It’ll help strengthen your jaw muscles for when you _can_ eat solids. And as a bonus, you can even blow bubbles.”

Curious, Dumah took the thin strip of gum and watched Hunk demonstrate before tentatively trying for himself. The taste was … unpleasant, to say the least, and when he could do little more than press indentations into the soft material he wondered if he’d been a fool to trust Hunk at all.

But he kept at it, and to his surprise the steady mastication coupled with the slow flow of saliva caused it to soften further until it was tender enough to depress amongst his teeth and reform every time he opened and closed his jaw. It was like exercise, the motion repeated over and over until in no time the muscles were tired.

Hunk gave him a pack of the gum, and Dumah practiced with it all day, chewing in private, surprised to see that already the strength between his jaws was stronger than it had been the day before from so simple a motion.

“Here, I made these for you,” the Yellow Paladin said when Dumah appeared the next night. On a plate were several small cubes of a material that jiggled as he set them on the counter. Tentatively he approached Hunk to see what these were for himself. “It took me a little tinkering, but this is a gelatin. We like to call it Jell-O on Earth, and it comes in lots of awesome colors and flavors!”

Hunk’s grin was bright and enthusiastic and although he wanted the human to get to the point, he couldn’t help but stare at the easy enthusiasm. It wasn’t anything he’d ever been allowed to see.

At least, not past the witch’s smug pride at an experiment’s success, and that was never anything he’d _wanted_ to see.

“It’s pretty much a liquid with some substance and a good place to start working you into other semi-solids before we get into real foods. And because it’s pretty much a liquid your stomach shouldn’t have too many problems with it, especially if we keep flavorings to a minimum for the time being. I made a variety of them to cover various tastes and strengths. Here.”

Hunk held out his hand, and Dumah saw there were several double-sided disks there, one side red and the other green.

“Since you can’t talk, I thought we could use these to communicate. When you try them, if something doesn’t work for you leave a disk red-side up. If you like it, green-side, and I’ll start working in that direction. Hopefully this way we’ll avoid any, uh, stomach problems on the path to gastrointestinal pleasure.”

Dumah wasn’t sure about the ‘gastrointestinal pleasure’. Truth be told, he did not particularly care if he enjoyed the food or not, merely desired to sustain himself and nothing more. But this was the best chance he was going to have at that. He took the disks slowly, an awkward moment forming as it became unclear what he should do next. Was he supposed to … eat while Hunk was there?

Hunk seemed to realize his hesitation and smiled before awkwardly backing away.

“I’m just going to leave for a bit. Got, uh, some things to do.” He pointed over his shoulder. “I’ll come back after a while. See what you think, and we’ll move on from there, okay? Okay.”

Hunk left.

The strange tension within him at the thought of eating in front of the human slipped away as the sound of Hunk’s footsteps faded, and soon he was left with the gelatin cubes. There were five of them, each a different color. He picked up the first one, confused by the odd consistency. He almost didn’t want to eat it.

But if this helped him, then … he supposed a small piece wouldn’t kill him. More than likely he’d vomit it soon after anyway. There wasn’t much to lose at this point.

His teeth met a fraction of resistance but it gave way instantly, much to his surprise, and as Hunk had described it became liquid in his mouth. It had a slightly sharp taste he was unsure he appreciated, but it went down easily enough. And to his surprise, after a moment his stomach did little more than twitch, and he kept it down.

He looked at the cubes again. Promising.

The next one was darker and slightly bitter, a taste he couldn’t quite swallow. The third was clear but contained tiny bits of fruit he found he could successfully chew, though his teeth ached in response. Attempting to swallow this one went well but his stomach immediately refused the presence of solids. He had to take a momentary break as he expelled, and while tempted to stop he’d already come this far. The fourth was a perfectly clear one which tasted sour, and although he rather enjoyed the taste, he did not think he could eat more than the small bite he had.

The final one he tried was light blue and slightly clouded. The lack of clarity made him wary, but he tried it anyway. A creamy taste, slightly sweet, covered his tongue and he paused at how pleasant it was. He had not expected it at all. His experience of food thus far had been abysmal, but this … he almost didn’t want to swallow it down for the final test of his stomach. He didn’t want to risk it.

But he did, and as time ticked by he waited for his stomach to retaliate.

It didn’t.

Dumah considered the small, double-sided plastic disks before he placed them on the plates, red-side up. But for the final one, he left the token green. His stomach hadn’t so much as twitched as it had with the others, and for the first time his sense of taste also had not been offended but enticed. It was encouraging. In fact, it was relieving.

Then Dumah twisted space, vanishing before Hunk returned.

* * *

He’d noticed the Green Paladin enjoyed spending her time in the engineer’s workshop, and when she wasn’t there, she was tinkering with the castle’s systems. They’d never spent excessive time together, merely saw each other in passing, but as the quintants passed he noticed there was a trend with her. She worked obsessively. She did everything obsessively, testing herself and her mind.

He noticed that the others often could not keep up with her brilliance. And it intrigued him.

Especially every time she engaged them in a game she called ‘chess’.

Her triumphant laughter was what had made him curious, and the defeated groans had driven him to investigate. He’d caught glimpses of the game here and there and had tried to piece it together. He did not expect to ever play, as it appeared she only played it with her friends and companions, but he was surprised when one day after indicating to Lance that he was needed on the bridge, he’d paused for the briefest moment to take a look at the board up close. Black and white squares with strangely shaped pieces placed all across it. The urge to pick one of the pieces up and study it tugged at his fingers, but he resisted. He was not a friend or companion. She would not want to play the game with him.

“Would you like to learn how to play?”

Dumah looked at her, surprised. She grinned at him.

“I’d be happy to teach you. Shiro plays sometimes, but otherwise no one else ever wants to. It’s a strategy game. Do you like strategy games?”

Even if he could speak, Dumah doubted she’d like to hear that the only strategy games he played were ones that were played to the death. Still, he had not left, and excitement flashed in her eyes. Pidge shoved her projects to the side, facing him and the board before gesturing to the seat across from her. Slowly he took it, wary despite how innocent the game appeared. The others had not survived long.

“The idea here is pretty simple,” Pidge said. “Your goal is to find a way to take the other player’s king, which is this piece, while using the limitations of the other pieces and strategy to do it. Each piece moves differently, and if their spot is invaded by a piece of the opposite player’s, then that piece is removed from the game and you have to adapt and use what you have left to win. Pretty simple, right?”

Fairly straightforward. It was a duel and as she explained the advantages and limitations of each piece, he surmised it was less about what happened on the board as it was outsmarting the opponent and predicting their moves. As she’s said. Strategy. And whoever had the greater strategy succeeded.

They set the board. Pidge rubbed her hands together eagerly.

“I’ll try to go easy on you since it’s your first time. It usually takes a round or two to get it, and I’m not going to lie, I’m eager to play against someone new.”

He wondered if what she truly meant was someone other than human. Someone she could not predict. Someone Galra. Dumah supposed if that was the case, that was fair. She _should_ learn how to combat Galran tactics. It would only serve to keep her alive.

And so he played.

The beginning progressed slowly as he moved pieces with care, studying and analyzing the variety of different moves and maneuvers she might enact against him. He lost a knight. She lost three pawns. He noticed she was doing her best to give the game her fullest attention, but her eyes kept glancing toward her computer as if she wondered what was on it but was being polite about how slow he was taking the game.

Very well. He recaptured her attention when he won the game in five more turns.

“Whoa, wait a minute,” she said, pushing her glasses back in place. “You … won.”

He was already resetting the game board. When he was done he looked at her waiting. Her brow furrowed.

“Beginner’s luck.”

The second game lasted longer, but again she paid for underestimating him. The third game she won, but barely. Her attention was focused now. She’d reset the board almost before the last game had ended, ready to face him again. In truth, he felt eager to begin as well. He’d never considered tactics like the ones she employed. They were distinctly un-Galra, and utterly fascinating.

“Just one more game,” she said, making the first move and eagerly waiting his counter. “I’ve never seen strategies like these before.”

They kept playing well into the evening, losing track of time. An air of challenged amusement hung between them as the pieces clicked and clicked against the board.

* * *

He heard grunting, shouting, the sound of swords clashing, and for a moment Dumah was transported back to the High Priestess’s containment room. He reacted, hand crackling and ready for a fight as he followed the sounds, adrenaline racing through his body as dread consumed him. This was the Altean Princess’s ship. The Castle of Lions should not have been infiltrated by anyone or anything, not with so many warriors aboard.

The moment he burst into the room, attacking the first combatant he saw, he realized his mistake. This was a training deck. What he’d mistaken for violence was nothing more than Keith, and the fight he had heard was merely sparring.

The training drone he’d speared fell to the ground with a clash and the Red Paladin paused, staring at him. The entire training exercise ended instantly. Dumah had no idea what he should do after displaying such a violent entrance to the equally violent Keith.

“Wow,” Keith said, brows rising. “You’re fast.”

Dumah frowned but slowly nodded. He was fast. Speed had been necessary. Speed had saved his life more times than he could recall.

“Pretty impressive what you did to the training drone. I’ve been sparring against them for a while now. It’s pretty hard to break them.” He nodded to the hole in the machine. “Didn’t know you could do that.”

There was a lot they didn’t know he could do. If they knew even half of it, they would force him out of the castle despite his ability to shield the Black Lion.

“You know,” Keith said after a moment. “The last time I went up against someone like you, I got my ass handed to me.”

Dumah did not like where this was going. Much as he wished he could deny it, he knew what the Red Paladin was talking about. He’d said so before that he’d fought a Druid. Was Keith going to fight him out of some sense of revenge? Although Dumah did not want to fight, he would. But he wouldn’t need to if he didn’t give the situation time to develop. Reaching for quintessence, he twisted space, ready to vanish—

“I’ve been meaning to ask if you’d mind sparring with me. I’ll never be as fast as you or the Druids, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn how to fight them if I need to again. Do you mind?”

Surprise overwhelmed everything. A sparring match was the last thing he’d expected from this volatile Paladin. A full fight, certainly, but nothing more than a match? Keith didn’t even appear to desire real violence against him either. He merely wished to learn.

And so he nodded. Keith gave a flash of a smile before settling his bayard more firmly in his palm.

“Good, but don’t go easy on me. I mean it. I need to get stronger.”

Dumah studied the Paladin. He supposed it wasn’t surprising that of the Paladins of Voltron, Keith would ask him this. He supposed Shiro might have as well, but there was a certain fire in Keith that Dumah found he understood. This human knew he needed to prepare for a fight — any and all fights — and Dumah could help him in that endeavor. But he did not think Keith understood what it meant if he did not go easy on him.

He doubted he’d be forgiven if he killed the Red Paladin, even accidentally.

Keith barely gave him time to think, and he found himself reacting out of instinct as a blur of red and white dashed across the room, a white sword raised for battle. He stepped back, twisted space, and the next moment Keith’s feet were swept out from under him as Dumah stood above.

“Again.”

Dumah stepped back, and once Keith was on his feet he moved far more cautiously, his eyes trained on him. It was a wiser move. Always keep a Druid in sight, whenever possible. The moment anyone lost sight, they lost their advantage. To win was to predict the Druid.

When he twisted space, he was impressed to find that Keith had reacted well to the new change, dodging the sweep he’d planned to see if he could kick him down again, but he wasn’t prepared for the shock that zapped through him when Dumah brushed against his arm. Keith gritted his teeth and stumbled back, staring at Dumah’s still sparking hand.

“Okay, gotta look out for tricks.”

Dumah nodded. Then he vanished again.

A varga later, Keith was taking a break, drinking water and shoving sweaty hair out of his face. He’d done well, picking up on many of the common Druid tactics and countering them. The next time he faced one of the High Priestess’s acolytes, he would be better prepared. If they continued sparring sessions, Dumah had no doubt Keith would learn to defeat them soundly.

“Hey, thanks, that really helped,” Keith said once he’d caught his breath. “But I was wondering what happens if you can’t teleport wherever you want. How do you fight then? And I’m not talking about the lightning or all of the other … magic.”

Dumah stared at him quizzically. Keith rubbed the back of his head as he searched for better words.

“I mean, do you fight with weapons too? You know, like guns or swords? Or do you Druids just stick to the magic?”

Oh.

Dumah considered Keith’s question. For as long as he could remember, twisting space had been the most reasonable method of combat-movement he had available, but the Red Paladin brought up a good point, one he should consider. He might not always be able to use his quintessent abilities — there had been moments recently where they had not helped him at all. As a matter of fact, now that he considered the question directly, as far as battle prowess went, he and most of the Druids relied purely on quintessence. Anything more was what the soldiers and the slaves were for. After all, Dumah had never been allowed to be physically strong. The High Priestess had ensured he relied entirely on quintessence to bridge any gap. He hadn’t needed anything else. He’d never been allowed anything else.

His brow furrowed and that must have been enough for Keith. The human chuckled.

“So, none of you know how to use a sword?”

His answer was slow coming, but eventually he shook his head.

“So you don’t know how to use one?”

Again, the answer was slow coming, given how convoluted the answer was. He could use one, but he’d never been trained on how to use one.

“Have you ever thought about using a weapon to fight? Like with the teleporting, what happens when you can’t use your quintessence to fight? Or wouldn’t it make more sense to save it as your trump card and use a weapon first?”

To Dumah’s surprise, he realized he had never considered using a weapon before. Quintessence was efficient, and he had relied on it so long for everything from transportation to survival that it was always his first option when he needed to accomplish a goal. But what Keith had said, there was a surprising amount of wisdom in it.

“Would you like to learn?”

Dumah stared. Keith shrugged.

“Seems fair. You helped me. I can help you. Kind of like trading, I guess.”

Perhaps to both of their surprise, Dumah found himself nodding. There was something within him that had perked up at the idea, like it had only been waiting. Suddenly all he wanted to do was learn, to hold a weapon in hand and …

Well, he didn’t know, but he wanted this.

Keith tossed a training blade at him.

“It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it, and then it comes down to practice,” he explained. “We’ll start with the basics.”

Dumah was surprised Keith was a careful teacher, but with his warrior’s mindset perhaps he was not as surprised in the end. They covered form. They covered range of motion. They covered maneuvers, and through every careful motion, Dumah felt a strange pull of familiarity. This was the first time he’d formally experienced swordplay, and yet his muscles pulled from one motion to the next as if he’d done them before. He hardly needed Keith to explain and demonstrate when he was somehow already performing the motion.

“Looks like you’ve got the moves down,” Keith said with a nod of approval. “Let’s try it with one of the training drones.”

Holding the weapon before him, Dumah faced the drone and resolved to tamp down on his inclination to reach for quintessence. The weight of the sword was strange in his palm, again familiar and unfamiliar. The drone was coming after him, weapon raised. Dumah did not think.

He moved.

An instant later the drone toppled over and Dumah straightened to look at it. It had happened so fast, so naturally as if he’d only been waiting for the opportunity.

“Wow,” Keith said with a soft laugh and a strange look. “You picked that up fast. Are you sure you’ve never done that before?”

Dumah weighed the sword in his palm and couldn’t help but wonder. There was a certain … ease to it, more than he’d thought an untrained fighter such as him should have, regardless of possible talent. It was true that he’d used weapons such as these when he was pitted against others during his feedings, but it was never about combat prowess or practice. Those fights had always had one goal, and one goal only, and it was not skill.

He flipped the sword, guiding it around his body slowly, letting what felt right and natural slip through, and even he was surprised by the odd grace the movements elicited. It made him wonder if, perhaps, he _had_ done this before. Back beyond the edge of his memories.

Keith chose the opportunity to launch a surprise attack, his movements so swift that Dumah hardly noticed before the blade was knocked out of his hand.

“Well, whether you knew how to fight or not, you definitely need to learn how to block or dodge. It’s something to work on, if you want.”

Dumah studied the dark-haired human. In truth, he’d been considering spending time in the castle’s expansive library after this. Instead, he picked up the practice sword and took an offensive posture and tried not to wonder too deeply about why it felt oddly familiar. Almost nostalgic.

* * *

It was the middle of the night, and Dumah could not sleep. The darkness was plagued with unpleasantness, his thoughts with the glowing eyes of the Emperor’s witch, and once again he found himself roaming rather than face his dreams again. Although the spell he’d placed around the Black Lion was strong and intact after his most recent meditation, on nights like these he found he much preferred to focus on it than on the sleeplessness. It gave him something to do. Made him feel as if he was fighting against something rather than waiting for whatever might come, whenever it might come.

On one such night he took the long way to the Lions’ hold, passing through vast hallways when he stopped, his ears picking up a haunting sound muffled by a door.

The Black Paladin was screaming.

Again like with Keith, he reacted. Screaming meant attack, and if Shiro was screaming then there was a strong need for violence, and quickly. He twisted space into the Paladin’s room, hand already crackling, waiting for the first opponent, but all he saw was darkness. Faint lighting. Shiro’s form twisting beneath sheets as sweat covered his skin. Panic flashed across his sleeping face. His prosthetic hand glowed, burning a hole into the blanket.

Dumah slowly let his body relax. A nightmare. Shiro was having a nightmare.

Fatigue and understanding rolled through him. He knew nightmares all too well.

He turned to leave, after all there was nothing he could do for the human, but before he could leave, a frantic shout filled the room and Dumah was tackled to the ground. Instinct took over. He snarled, hands reaching as his mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation but all he could see in that moment was dim darkness, a frantic being struggling to end him, and the panicked eyes of a creature fighting for its life. Only one situation ever involved such individuals and the need to leach quintessence, to feed the way he had for so long, triggered almost without his knowledge. His hands reached, the quintessence was there, he felt it build just as he saw the prosthetic arm burn to life, he would _not_ be killed—!

And then he bit his tongue.

The taste of blood was what broke him out of it. Taste in general was something that had _never_ happened during a feeding and the sharp, metal flavor reminded him exactly where he was and what was happening. It grounded him, caused him to immediately throw everything he had into stopping the feeding. All the while he had to avoid a bright violet hand intent on killing him. Shiro was still locked in the same mental prison he had almost suffered. He had to wake him up.

Dumah bucked his hips, throwing Shiro’s body up and over his before he dashed up, twisted space and activated the wall panel. Light flooded the room, shocking and blinding Shiro who jolted and fell back, covering his eyes. Dumah waited to see if it worked, to see if he would have to find another way, but he was relieved to see the light of reason in Shiro’s torn eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to right himself before his eyes stopped on Dumah.

The realization was almost painful to watch.

“Why are you—did I?” Shiro choked, realizing he had. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—” Shiro’s breathing was uneven, his eyes wide and terrorized as sweat clung to his body, and Dumah was surprised to find something waft up out of the dense core within him. It curled around his chest, reminded him of how he had awoken in much the same state, and he realized the sensation — as foreign as it was — was sympathy.

Night terrors plagued both of them. No one touched by the Galra Empire appeared to leave it unscathed.

“Why … are you here?” Shiro finally asked once he’d collected himself. A shadow of distrust clung to his eyes, but Dumah would have been surprised if it hadn’t. If the same had happened to him, he’d have been suspicious too. He touched his ear and gestured to Shiro, and although Shiro’s lips pressed thin, he seemed to understand. “Why are you even up?”

Dumah looked down, the fatigue hanging on him before he sighed and looked up again to hold his gaze. He gestured to Shiro again, then touched his brow and shook it.

“Oh,” Shiro replied, temper cooling as he understood again. He gave a faint laugh before shaking his head and sitting heavily on his bed. “Right.”

Dumah nodded. They shared the moment, the silence tense and awkward and oddly intimate before Dumah decided the best thing he could do for the both of them was leave. But before he could, Shiro stopped him.

“Wait, what were you … what were you doing before you heard me?” Dumah’s brow furrowed, confused. Why did Shiro want to know? “Sorry, it’s just—I’m trying to orient myself. I’m not questioning you or anything, I’m just … just grounding.”

Dumah understood. The first thing he did when he woke from such nightmares was touch his face, feel his lips. Open his mouth. In the dreams, the muzzle was still there. The muzzle was the mark of his slavery. The lack of it reminded him instantly that he was not a slave anymore. That he was free and this was real. He understood what the Black Paladin needed.

And so he motioned for Shiro to follow him.

Shiro didn’t even ask where he was taking him. He merely followed in his sleeping clothes, clearly relieved to be out of his room and further from his nightmares. Dumah could relate. Regardless, it appeared Shiro was surprised to find them standing before the Black Lion. Quietly Dumah stepped into the ring maintaining the quintessent spell and sat. He focused and closed his eyes, slowly feeding the spell, keeping Zarkon and the witch at bay.

“Is this what you do when you have nightmares?”

Dumah nodded. Shiro chuckled softly.

“It’s a peaceful alternative, that’s for sure.”

Dumah had to admit that Shiro wasn’t wrong.

“Do you mind if I meditate with you?”

If any of the others had asked, he’d have denied them. But he found he didn’t much mind from the fellow former slave. He certainly didn’t think Shiro would bother him as someone like Lance would.

And, truthfully, he did not mind the Black Paladin’s company.

So he gestured to a spot next to him. He listened to Shiro get settled. He listened to the human breathe, and between them the room grew quiet. Dumah was surprised to find he did not feel as haunted by his dreams as he had been with Shiro’s company. He wondered if it was the same for Shiro.

* * *

Dumah had been thinking on it for quite some time and he’d finally come to a decision. He did not know how long he would remain with the Paladins of Voltron and aboard the princess’s ship, but given the arrangement, he supposed it might be for some time. They were all getting by, but there was no doubt that his inability to directly communicate was becoming problematic. True, he was learning to read the common language, and he was learning to spell it as well, but it was a slow endeavor. He needed something faster. Something more intuitive.

It was why he sought out Lance.

Given their previous interactions and the strained way in which they often found themselves, Dumah was unsurprised that when he entered the lounge, Lance did little more than glance up and ignore him. It was standard behavior. He was prepared for it.

Dumah sat in front of the Blue Paladin and waited.

Lance knew he was there. Given the way the Blue Paladin usually behaved, he wasn’t surprised Lance was unwilling to give him his attention after the way their last encounter had gone. But Dumah had made up his mind. He wasn’t leaving. The stalemate drew on and on, and for someone like Dumah, the silence that came out of it was more than comfortable. He was content to wait out the quintant if need be. But he knew he wouldn’t have to. Lance was an active creature, unable to remain still for much longer than a tick.

It didn’t take long. Lance finally huffed and glowered at him.

“What do you want?”

Dumah gestured to his mouth, opening and closing it in a mockery of speaking before motioning to Lance. Lance made a face.

“Look, I don’t care what you’ve eaten or how badly you need to toss your cookies. Go find a bathroom or take it up with someone else.” Lance moved to get up but Dumah was faster, and he shoved the Paladin back down and glared. He tried again, endeavoring to be clearer about what he wanted. This was the problem. This was always the problem. There was only so far he could go with the few gestures he had. Even if the only person he could speak with was Lance, he _needed_ to.

Lance still apparently didn’t get it as he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Listen. I have no idea what you’re trying to tell me. Unless you’re here to learn how to talk using sign language, like I offered, then just go away already.”

Dumah stopped and gave him a very pointed look, then arched a brow slowly to emphasize the action. He was not moving. It meant one thing.

Lance stared, then he gaped before sitting up straighter.

“You … you really want to learn?”

Dumah nodded. He needed a better way of communication, even with only one of the Paladins. If Lance’s sign language would help bridge the linguistic gap that formed because of his voicelessness, he needed to learn. It would only help him later.

To his surprise, Lance grinned, hope and excitement filling his face as he snapped his book shut and tossed it beside him. “All right then! I didn’t think you’d actually agree to it, but … yeah! This is great! And don’t worry, I’m an amazing teacher. We’ll have you signing in no time, just wait. I knew you’d warm up to me.”

Dumah resisted the urge to sigh. Instead he prepared himself for instruction, endeavoring to commit every sign to memory as quickly as possible, if only to end this sooner. With little else to do except trust Lance and hope he could in fact teach him, he settled in.

After a varga, he was surprised to find that Lance was surprisingly enough, a good teacher, tempering out and calming down as he focused on the task at hand and not on the performance he gave anyone who glanced his way. Before long they’d covered basic greetings. Signing etiquette. How important it was to be clear with his movements and expressions. Lance taught him an alphabet, and as Dumah was determined to do, he learned quickly.

“You’re really picking this up, huh?” Lance said after they’d run through a few signing scenarios to determine if he understood or not. It appeared Dumah had passed the test, and even that little bit of exchange felt relieving. For the first time, he was speaking with someone, even if it was simplistic. “All right, how about we try something a little more difficult just to test you. What’s the name of our superweapon?”

Dumah carefully spelled out ‘Voltron’. Lance grinned.

“And the name of the Princess?”

Just as carefully he spelled that as well. ‘Princess Allura’. Lance nodded as if impressed, then he arched a brow.

“How about your name?”

Dumah’s mind went blank. In retrospect, he supposed he should have expected this. It was the question they were all trying to answer. He just didn’t think they realized he had no answer either, not one he thought would satisfy them.

“Hey, sorry about that, couldn’t help myself,” Lance said once Dumah had failed to answer. “Just a little excited. You don’t have to say, was just curious, you know?”

Dumah gave Lance one of the first signs he’d learned.

_I don’t know._

“Well, what I mean is, I get carried away, and like, you’re the biggest mystery here and _I’m_ the one who might get to find out first, and—”

Dumah held up a hand to stop him, then signed again, keeping his eyes locked on Lances.

_I don’t know._

This time Lance took it slower, piecing together his meaning before his brow furrowed.

“You don’t know … you don’t know what your name is?”

Dumah shook his head. Lance leaned back in his seat, clearly stunned.

“Well,” Lance said. “Quiznak.”

Dumah’s thoughts exactly.

* * *

Later Lance burst into the dining hall where the other Paladins and the Altean Princess were eating their meal. His eyes were wide and lively as he ran to the table, using it to stop his momentum. The jarring motion caused dishes to clack and Keith scowled when his drink threatened to topple over. The Blue Paladin didn’t appear to care. He seemed eager.

“You guys won’t believe this, but our half-Altean friend?” Lance said. “He came to me today.”

“Did he want to spar with you? I hope he did,” Keith said with the edge of a bite. “That dude is going to be lethal with a blade once he practices more.”

“He’s been sparring with you?” Pidge asked. “He plays chess with me.”

“Guys, guys, you too?” Hunk’s eyes watered as he smiled. “He eats my cooking!”

“He keeps me company when I can’t sleep,” Shiro added, surprise building in his voice. “I thought he kept to himself.”

“He does, but perhaps not as much as we all thought,” the princess said thoughtfully before curiosity colored her words. “So he came to you today Lance? What for?”

“Believe it or not, he came to learn _sign language_.”

“What?” Allura said, eyes wide as she straightened in her seat. She wasn’t the only one. “You’re joking.”

“You mean he’s really trying to learn?” Shiro asked. “I thought he didn’t want to.”

Keith snickered. “Who would? It’s Lance.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Make all the jokes you want, but it’s true, and here’s the thing,” Lance said. “We were only working on the basics for like, an hour, but he’s smart. I mean _really smart_. Once I got him to understand the syntax and gave him a handful of basic signs, guys, he was _talking_. Or you know, communicating.”

Silence filled the room, and Allura sucked in a sharp breath.

“What?”

“I’m not even joking about this. It took him a few tries, but he was getting it.”

“Well, come on, you’ve gotta tell us,” Hunk said. “What did he say?”

“Did he tell you why the Galra had him? Or where he came from?” Allura asked hopefully.

“Nothing like that, we only went over the basics. Simple stuff. It’ll take longer to get into anything more complicated so until he’s better at it I think we should keep using writing. But this is good, isn’t it? He’s trying to learn. He’s trying to _communicate_.”

“This is good, and hopefully it’s a sign that he’s trusting us,” the princess said pensively before saying. “Lance, could you also teach me how to speak this sign language. I also want to learn to speak this way if that’s how he’s choosing to speak.”

A smile slid across Lance’s face at the attention as he leaned forward. “Of course! I’d be happy to teach you, Princess.”

“Wonderful! Hopefully these new changes he’s displaying mean good things. Perhaps sometime soon he will tell us why they kept him captive as they did.”

“I think there might be a good chance,” Pidge added. “I mean, they went to some extreme lengths to keep him from communicating. The fact that he’s trying to bridge the gap now _has_ to be a good thing.”

“It _is_ a good thing,” the Altean Princess said confidently.

“It makes me wonder why Haggar did everything she did to him,” Shiro said before adding quietly, “There has to be a reason why.”

“If only he could tell us,” the princess sighed.

From the shadows where Dumah had been listening to the entire conversation, he let out a small sigh of his own and wished the darkness of his memory would lift to tell him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's coming out of his shell a little and starting to move in a direction that looks like recovery! These little blips were fun to write and I adore them, but we didn't get a chance to spend any one-on-one time with Allura :(
> 
> Guess that's what next week is for~ Till Monday :]


	9. Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who almost forgot to post today? But I didn't! So here we are once again. The chapters are shorter this week, which means there will also be three chapters posted this week as well! Lots of fun in store, and perhaps the first hints of Lotura~
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

They’d finally arrived at what the humans were calling the Space Mall in search of replacement scaultrite lenses, and it was quickly decided that while most of the Paladins would proceed with Coran on the search, Shiro would remain behind where he would do what he could to bond with the Black Lion. The sooner he did that, the sooner they could all stop worrying about the Emperor.

The sooner Shiro did that, the sooner Dumah’s rather extensive debt to them would be repaid. And the sooner he could leave.

He needed to.

The fact of the matter was, he was getting too comfortable. He was forgetting that this was nothing more than using them for his benefit and that he wasn’t a part of their team. He _wasn’t_ one of them. He _couldn’t_ be.

But every day it was harder to remember that simple fact. He was spending more time with them, learning each of them, understanding them as they all worked together. _Enjoying_ them.

Hunk had been true to his word, dedicated to helping him adjust to a life with food. The first step with the gelatins had eventually eased him into the food-goo, and now he was carefully working on soft fruits and vegetables. Simple grains. He still wasn’t capable of meats, and he had to be careful of proteins in general, but he _was_ eating. And he had to admit that Hunk’s food was good.

Hunk’s cheerful attitude was also surprisingly appreciated. Of all the Paladins Dumah could stand, Hunk was one of his preferred. He never needed Dumah to say anything. He never required Dumah to explain himself nor cast a cautious look his way. The human was kind and honest, and although he spoke more than Dumah sometimes could handle, he found it never truly bothered him, not like it did when it was Lance or Coran when he got carried away on a tangent.

The games with Pidge and the sparring with Keith challenged him in both mind and body, and he enjoyed the struggle. They were excellent opponents, pressing him and challenging him to think differently and grow. Against Pidge, new strategies were growing in his mind, and against Keith, his body was changing. Gradually, but it was.

While he’d never been allowed to properly view his own body at his leisure while slave to the witch, now that he was free, Dumah found he could not help but study himself. There was a mirror in his room, one he could activate and control its reflectivity, and when he was alone sometimes he would strip. Scars pockmarked his flesh, drawing lines that dug deep, punctured, bit, and ripped stories he couldn’t always remember anymore. When he’d first done this, the hollows between every bone that protruded from under his skin had been stark and pale. He’d been able to see every muscle and every bone. He could not have weighed very much, and it was clear all that had been holding him together and keeping him going was quintessence.

Now however he was still very pale, but the hollows weren’t as defined. The food, exercise, and the sleep, the … recovery, as the princess liked to call it, were causing him to fill out ever so slightly. He was still emaciated, all of his bones could be counted, but it wasn’t as stark. Coran believed that once he was able to consume food properly he might stop looking like a wraith and put meat on his bones. 

As always his gaze snagged on his face, and he supposed that made sense. One phoeb unmuzzled could not combat what must have been thousands of deca-phoebs worth of obscurity. Sometimes it was difficult to connect that it was him in the reflection. Grayish skin. Blue and yellow eyes, blade of a nose. Thin lips. Strong jaw that bordered on skeletal. White hair that was now an inch long and daring to hide the thick scars where the muzzle had dug into him for so long. Not much about that had changed since he’d been freed, and sometimes he could not look at his own reflection.

But it was there. And it was his.

Fascinated as he was in private, it was never long before he increased the opacity until the mirror was nothing more than a wall again, and he dressed in his armor. It was the only thing which fit him, much as he did not like it, but more than that … it was familiar, practically a second skin after so long. The princess had offered him other clothing, but he found he could not take it. Not only did it feel wrong on his skin, it looked wrong as well. The paler colors she’d provided hurt his eyes. They were made for a better person. A real Altean.

Not a creature like him.

Yet even though he was not like them, not good and light as they were, they didn’t treat him like the creature he was. At first there had been hesitation, but as the quintants had passed, that hesitation had faded away to kindness and welcome, even if there was often confusion involved due to his limited vocabulary and occasional mistake signing. There was a light around them all, and he knew it was slowly bleeding into him as well, softening rough edges that he’d thought would never be touched.

In truth, Dumah wasn’t sure he wanted it to happen.

“What do you think?” the princess asked, gesturing to the mice as they performed feats of acrobatics for her entertainment while the others were away. “Aren’t they marvelous?”

And then there was her. The Altean Princess.

Ever since Lance had started teaching him his sign language, the princess had devoted herself to learning as well so that their communication could flow better, and so she could rely less on Lance and a computer program for translation. The others had also been picking it up slowly, but not at the rate she had. Whereas the others relied on the translation program to interpret his signs, the princess was able to have small conversations with him with the limited vocabulary they both shared. Dumah was much faster, but it was still a slow process when the only practice he received was from Lance. Grateful as he was for the lessons, it often took Lance time to settle into a session and develop an attitude for teaching. The process was slow going.

Still, they could communicate, and with the program Pidge, Lance, and Coran had developed to translate his signs into writing, the communication was better than it had been. And although he did not speak very much, it was nice to have the option if he chose.

Like now.

[What would you like to do now, Princess?]

“I don’t know,” she said, still charmed by her mice as she watched them scamper about with tender affection. “Honestly, it’s been quite some time since I’ve been able to relax and lounge around like this. I mean, of course we’re waiting on the others and their missions, but it’s not often that I’ve little to do.” This time her eyes fell on him. “What would you like to do?”

The question surprised him, and his mind went blank. Usually Dumah never had time for things such as relaxation, admittedly not that he made the time. Not that he wanted it. This hardly qualified, given that he was acting as her companion and guardian should she require it. True, it was calming and of the things he did, he rather enjoyed it. But an activity of his own choosing? For nothing more than whimsy or desire? He had never considered anything.

“There must be something you like to do,” she said, realizing what his silence meant. She was getting better at it.

Although he didn’t have a clear answer, he thought about what he might have done if he were alone. That answer at least was easy enough.

[Learn]

“Really?” the princess said before she chuckled to herself. “I mean, of course. That makes sense, you’re always learning, aren’t you? Like with Pidge, and Lance, and Keith. All right. What have you been learning recently?”

This was where the limits of his signing ability became evident. He simply did not know how to convey that he was now learning about human coding from Pidge, Altean engineering from Coran, or galactic geography with Shiro. His vocabulary was still growing. But he thought he might have an alternative. It was true enough.

[Altean stories]

The delight that flooded her gaze was like watching a star being born. She leaned forward and took his hands, a motion that surprised him almost to the point of jerking away but he restrained himself at the last moment. Her hands were warm and gentle around his, and this close he could smell the gentle floral scent that always clung to her. It amazed him that someone like her wouldn’t flinch from him, especially knowing what his hands could do. What cruelty his hand _had_ done to her.

“Altean stories! Oh, which ones? I know so many of them, I’d love to know which ones you’re interested in. Are you learning about Alteans and Altean culture?”

He was learning about Alteans, that was true. Since he was part-Altean, he wanted to understand that side of him. Anything to distance himself from the Galra half that was so apparent in his skin.

[Yes]

It was a simplistic answer, but at least it was the truth.

“Do you have a favorite? What have you learned so far?”

He supposed coming from a dying race as she did, it was important to her to validate any sense of home and cultural personhood, especially with someone who was interested and invested in it. Someone who was also, at least in part, Altean. Her enthusiasm should have felt overbearing. He did not particularly like overly emotional people, given how emotional his victims had rightly been before he was forced to feed upon their energy and life. But her excitement didn’t push him away. He found he wanted to answer, he simply didn’t have the right signs to convey what he had learned.

[I don’t know how to say them] he signed, and although she wilted a little, her smile didn’t fade.

“Well then you’ll have to tell me once you do know how to say them.”

His hands spoke for him before his mind even realized what he’d wanted to say. [What’s your favorite story, Princess?]

Her eyes widened. “You really want to know?”

Dumah found himself nodding. Yes. He did want to know. He wanted to know very much.

The princess smiled, and it was so hard to ignore the way his body relaxed and lightened upon seeing it.

“Well, all right then,” she replied, eyes bright. “Have you ever heard of the Legend of Oriande?”

Dumah’s heart abruptly stuttered and skipped a beat, and bewildered he had no idea why. It was almost difficult to breathe given how tight his chest abruptly became, but he forced himself to ignore it and focus instead on the flood of curiosity filling him. He arched a brow, waiting.

Waiting for this … Oriande.

“It’s an old Altean fairy tale,” she explained, eyes softening with what could only be memory. “According to the story, there was a place somewhere in the universe where the ancient Alteans went to learn alchemy. It was supposed to be a magical, beautiful place. As a child, my father told me tales of Oriande, and they’ve been my favorite ever since. I half believed it was real.” She sighed wistfully. “If only it was.”

_But isn’t it?_

The thought was so fleeting and so sudden that Dumah couldn’t help but focus on it. This was a story. A fairy tale. As the princess had said, it was nothing more than a myth.

And yet he could not help but feel a strange notion, one that didn’t make sense, yet urged that there _was_ something more to it.

But the strange certainty faded as quickly as it had come, and he allowed the princess’s wistful look to sweep it the rest of the way. She was a real Altean, one who’d been born and raised on Altea. He was a half-breed monster with no memory. She would know better than him. It couldn’t be real.

He forced his hands to move.

[What other stories do you know?]

And that was how they passed the time. The princess would tell him stories about Alteans, Altea, Altean history and he would listen intently, asking questions now and then for clarification and absorbing it with full attention and curiosity. It was hard to believe the time was slipping by so smoothly, but it was. Her mice had taken up positions all over her body, napping as she spoke. She stroked the one in her palm gently as her words dried up. A gentle silence sat between them.

“I wish you knew these stories,” she admitted as her gaze dropped to the mouse in her palm. “You’re part Altean and as old as I am. You should know these stories. They’re part of your heritage, as much as mine.” Her eyes lifted and a pool of pain sat in them as she held his gaze. “You should never have had to endure what you have.”

He didn’t know what to think or how to respond to that. Everyone else avoided the reality of his slavery as strictly as they did Shiro’s slavery. No one talked about it, and frankly, he didn’t _want_ to talk about it either. This wasn’t the first time he’d caught this look on her face when she looked at him, but it was the first time she’d mentioned what she’d saved him from.

But now that the conversation had turned to more somber topics, he noticed a strange look in her eyes past the pain. It was curious, but also hesitant. Although he suspected it was a question she was wanting to ask, one about him and the mystery that he was immersed in, he found himself asking anyway.

[What is it, Princess?]

Encouraged despite her hesitation, she finally said, “I hope you don’t mind me asking, and I know you’ve said otherwise … but you really don’t have a name? Not even one you called yourself?”

Dumah gave the faintest snort before signing.

[Weapon. Slave]

Her lips pressed thin and a hint of anger flashed across the blue.

“I mean a _real_ name. You must have called yourself something all this time.” Her tone softened and a sad look sat in her eyes. “I hope you called yourself something other than those horrible things.”

That look, that honest, kind, gentle look … that was what undid him. He’d never considered sharing the name he’d chosen with anyone, and upon finding out he’d been rendered permanently mute, well. His name would die with him as it was always meant to, and he’d been content with that even after learning to communicate this way. His name was a pivotal part of him and who he was. A large part of him didn’t want to share it. Not even with her. Like that would … change him, somehow.

But conversely, he still _wanted_ to share it. If only to hear someone else say it and know it _was_ real. If only to hear _her_ say it and _make_ it real, so it was not just a fleeting thought in an incomprehensible mind. He wanted to be real.

Dumah wanted to be real for her.

His hands moved, and it might have been the hardest thing he’d ever done. Slowly he spelled letters and forced himself to allow the computer to translate. [Dumah]

The princess’s eyes widened, a soft breath escaping her throat.

“Is … is that—?”

[What I call myself] Dumah signed, allowing the program to translate even as his heart pounded so madly in his chest he could hardly hear beyond it. [Dumah]

Princess Allura smiled like she’d been given the world.

“Dumah.”

And there it was. His name, the name only he had ever called himself, the name only he had ever known, echoing in his ears like the greatest blaspheme and sinful pleasure. She knew it now. She’d said it. He’d shared it. It was real.

He was real.

A tender smile spread across her face and the softest look appeared in her eyes, and the pound of his heart gentled. “Thank you, Dumah, for sharing such a personal thing. It means so much to me that you trust me enough to tell me.”

Trust. He wasn’t so sure it had been trust which had driven him, but there was no denying there had been some of it at least. He’d _told_ her. He’d _wanted_ to tell her.

He’d never wanted … he’d never _wanted_ before.

Whether she returned her attention to the mice to be polite and give him time to adjust to the new way reality sat around him or not, it didn’t matter. Things had changed, and he found that now that he’d told her, that he’d _wanted_ to tell her, other things were making themselves known. Things that he … that he wanted.

And he realized, to his amazement and dismay, that one of those things was to continue to stay by her side.

* * *

It turned out that both Coran’s team and Shiro’s work with the Black Lion were successful. The scaultrite lenses needed to activate the teleduv and wormhole throughout the galaxy had been recovered. Shiro had developed a stronger bond with his lion, and Dumah had sensed it immediately. Zarkon would not be able to find them now, not through the Black Lion. It meant he could stop warding it. He was not needed. Now, he was not needed for anything. His debt had been repaid in full.

The castle was quiet now, it had been for some time as the night cycle for sleep had begun. No one was awake. He soon found himself in the hanger standing before one of the Altean ships. He had no baggage, after all, he’d never needed any. He had his armor. He was a walking weapon, and he could now sustain himself, more or less. There was nothing holding him back. He _should_ leave.

And yet, as he looked at the ship, he found himself reluctant.

“Are you going?”

Dumah glanced over his shoulder to see Princess Allura standing at the doorway. She didn’t advance like he’d half expected her to. It was strange how he almost wished she did. Like he wanted her to.

Bothered, he looked away from her and back toward the ship. He _should_ leave. There was nothing more he could do for them. They were making him soft. He was _changing_. This was the right thing to do. It had to be.

“I understand if you want to leave,” she said softly, and to his surprise her footsteps echoed in the room. He turned to watch her move close, closer than he’d expected. She stood next to him, looking at the ship. “And I won’t stop you if that’s what you want.”

He arched a brow at her, waiting. The princess sighed and looked at him, and all he saw was her strange honesty.

“But … I don’t want you to go, Dumah. I know you’re only half-Altean, but our people were destroyed. We have no home, and …” she chuckled to herself. “I guess I don’t want to lose what little trace of home we both might have. I understand if Altea and the Alteans mean nothing to you, but … well, just know that if you ever need a place to belong, there is a place for you here. And that _truly_ , you do not need to leave if you don’t want to.”

He needed to leave, however. None of them knew who he was or why he’d been captive for so long. Those answers, they weren’t here, and if he wanted to find them, he’d have to go and find them himself. He doubted the princess would make it a priority, not when she was attempting to fight Emperor Zarkon and free the universe.

She surprised him.

“And perhaps you’ll find out more about your past if you stay with us,” she said with a small smile. “They kept you for a reason. They … muted you for that reason too. If you need a reason, stay for that. I will help you find what you’re looking for. I _want_ to help you.”

He should hate her for saying such a thing. Helping him. He should not want help. He did not _want_ it.

And yet he was moved because he believed her. She truly wanted to help him. To find out who he was and why the Galra Empire had imprisoned and abused him as they had. He _believed_ she could help him, or at the very least would try her best. She would help him find the way forward. His throat squeezed.

He wanted that.

But more than that, his earlier desire to continue to stay by her side was stronger. It made his decision clear, even if he was certain it was the wrong one.

Dumah stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh, he's smitten <3 Finally some happiness for our poor boy :]
> 
> Till Thursday!


	10. The Blade of Marmora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh, they're at the Blade~
> 
> Enjoy!

With the Black Lion secure and the threat of Zarkon finding them reduced to a near impossibility, they were headed toward a place Shiro believed might hold allies. Allies who could help them fight the Galra Empire. Allies who, to Dumah’s surprise and deep displeasure, were supposedly Galra themselves.

[What?]

“Yeah,” Pidge said when they were gathered on the bridge. “A Galra named Ulaz freed Shiro and said he was a part of a group that fought Zarkon. They’re called the Blade of Marmora.”

Something twitched in the darkness of his memory, but he hardly gave it time of day. How could he when all he could focus on was that they were _Galra_.

[And you believed him?]

He saw the hesitation all around, unwilling as it was, and the sidled glances that edged Shiro’s way. Shiro frowned and crossed his arms.

“Ulaz saved my life. He saved all of our lives and helped us escape the Galra by sacrificing his own.” The Black Paladin’s tone was hard. “I believed him, and if there’s even the slightest chance we might have some real allies in this fight, I’m willing to risk it.”

“None of us are doubting you, Shiro. We’re merely cautious,” Princess Allura said, even though she was clearly uncomfortable. “You of all people understand why this is hard.”

“But also worth the risk,” he pressed.

Dumah’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists but resisted the urge to add to the conversation. While it was true, he was free and he was welcome here, he was still little more than a guest on this ship. Ultimately his opinion was unnecessary to the conversation. He was not a part of Voltron, and although willing to fight with them, this was not his place.

It was Princess Allura’s decision to make, and until she asked his opinion, he would keep it to himself. Even if he did not like it. They could be anyone. They could be secretly supporting Zarkon. This could be a trap.

But she did not ask his opinion, and in the end, the Voltron Paladins were intent on seeing it through. Soon enough they watched as Shiro and Keith left in the Red Lion for the Blade of Marmora.

It bothered him how tense the princess was, although he understood. She was concerned for them. Every time any of the Paladins were in danger, she was always concerned and ready to launch into action if it meant they would be saved. It was something he respected her for and was thankful for. After all, such a nature was what had saved him, and he was forever grateful to her for that kindness. He only wished he could do something more than wait for her order.

“I’m worried,” she admitted to him quietly sometime later. The two Paladins had been with the Blade for nearly the varga allotted before the path to the Blade closed for two quintants, and everything had been quiet. Her eyes were troubled, and he understood. The lack of anything was more than unnerving. “Do … you think this was the right thing?”

Dumah frowned. It was unlike her to be doubtful, least of all of her actions, but stranger still was that she’d come to him. It had been happening more, lately, and he refused to think too deeply about it. She desired counsel, that was it. But before he could respond, the sensors picked up the Red Lion and its suddenly aggressive activity. Her face hardened and in moments they were prepared to come to Shiro and Keith’s aid. He’d known it was a trap. He _had_.

But before anything could be done, a communication line patched through. Shiro and Keith’s face appeared in it, whole and safe.

Dumah stood next to Princess Allura, eyes sharp and quintessence ready as Shiro and Keith returned in the Red Lion, along with a small contingency of the Blades they’d found. _Galra_. Interacting with Galra would be difficult for him. While part-Galra himself, every interaction he’d ever had with Galra had resulted in his pain, shame, and imprisonment. Like Princess Allura and the other Paladins, he did not trust them. He _couldn’t_.

And yet from the depths of his mind where the void was thickest, he felt something there. Something undefined but real, like an irregularity in an otherwise flawless expanse. After more than a phoeb of darkness and silence from his memory, there was something there now he couldn’t ignore. It would not be ignored, even if it refused to give up what secrets it contained. Save one.

The certainty that, despite the fact they were Galra, the Blade of Marmora was infinitely important.

It was an impossible thought — he’d known nothing before his slavery to the witch. He remembered nothing. He did not even know his real name, if he’d ever had one. And yet _this_ , the Blade of Marmora, was striking something at the core of him. He knew the darkness of his mind hid things. What if he did know these Blades? Not from his memory now but before his memory.

And if that was the case, what did it mean?

Shiro and Keith exited the Red Lion with shadows behind them. Two tall Galra stepped out in dark uniforms with purple accents, one hooded and one not. Ceremonial blades sat at their back and waist. They moved like warriors, smooth and lethal, and he was relieved to find the unhooded one’s eyes contained an edge of caution.

Good.

“Everyone, this is Kolivan,” Shiro said as he gestured to the unhooded Galra. “He’s the leader of the Blade of Marmora. Beside him is Antok. Kolivan, Antok, this is Princess Allura, Coran, the rest of the Voltron Paladins, and—”

“A Druid.”

Battle awareness flooded Dumah. The tone the one called Antok had used radiated nothing but icy contempt and outrage, and he was right to prepare. A blade flew through the air straight for his chest and reflex caused him to twist space to a better, safer position.

The next instant he was in front of Princess Allura, hands crackling.

“No! Stop!” the princess shouted, breaking through the intensity as the Blade’s sword sailed back to its owner’s waiting palm, Antok clearly prepared to engage again. “He is not a Druid! He is a friend of Voltron, I swear it!”

“He moves like a Druid,” Antok snapped. “I’ve seen that armor before. He’s Haggar’s servant!”

Something in the way the Galra said that caused the anomaly in Dumah’s chest to swell, to roar, and the lightning that crackled around him was vicious as he snarled. He was _not_ her servant! He was nobody’s servant! He was _not_ a slave!

“Dumah, please calm down,” Princess Allura said, a hand appearing around his arm, her gaze pleading before she turned to the Blades. “It’s true that Dumah was once Haggar’s servant, but we freed him. He does not follow her or the Galra Empire, and he has earned my trust, as well as that of the Voltron Paladins. If you continue to attack him, you risk retaliation from the rest of us.”

At her words the rest of the Paladins prepared for a fight, though it was clear both Keith and Shiro were reluctant.

“Antok,” Kolivan said suddenly, his voice deep and rolling. “Enough.”

“Kolivan!”

“I said enough.”

And just like that, the situation defused, if grudgingly. Antok sheathed his blade, obeying Kolivan, and in response Dumah just as slowly let the quintessence waiting at his fingertips fade to nothing. The princess gently squeezed his arm before stepping around him.

“If we are to work together, we must trust each other. As I said before, Dumah has earned our trust and has been pivotal in preventing Zarkon from finding us. He has proved himself.”

“And we will respect that, Princess Allura,” Kolivan said, nodding. “You are right. Trust must be built.”

“Now that we’ve gotten past that,” Shiro said, no doubt attempting to take advantage of the calm to press forward, “it’s time we finally talk about what we’re here for. Zarkon, and taking him down.”

As was usual, once Shiro focused the group, the work began steadily with both Princess Allura and Kolivan at the lead. All the while he felt the weight of Antok’s attention on him, though the Blade made no move past that. It didn’t much matter to Dumah. He was doing the same and for identical reasons. The Blade of Marmora was still an unknown. A potential threat. He was not yet convinced of their intentions.

As they discussed the alliance they were creating and the plan they would develop together, Dumah kept to the side, observing everything. The careful interactions between the Paladins and the Blade. The hesitant looks Shiro was casting Keith, and the way Keith uncharacteristically appeared to be lost in thought instead of focused on what was before them as he usually was. He saw the way the others shifted uneasily in the presence of the full Galra. He saw the way Antok always kept him within sight as if expecting him to vanish any moment to stick a weapon through him the next.

But more than that, he was acutely aware of the discreet glances Kolivan kept edging his way. At first he hadn’t been sure, but he’d caught the Blade twice now. It unnerved Dumah, put him on edge even if the alliance they were creating with Princess Allura all but ensured a pact of nonviolence. When the meeting broke for a small reprieve before the plan could be properly pulled together, Dumah left for his quarters.

After a few doboshes, Kolivan followed him.

Dumah didn’t let on that he knew, but then again, Kolivan was also making no attempts to hide his presence either. Still, he wanted to know why the Blade’s eyes had kept flicking toward him, why he was following him now. Had he stopped Antok earlier not to maintain Princess Allura’s careful trust, but to have a shot at him himself, alone where no one might see? It wouldn’t matter if that was the case. Dumah would defeat the Blade, regardless, and he would convince the princess that they were not to be trusted no matter what help they promised.

That was why, when he got to his room he opened the door, he did not enter, not yet. He waited for Kolivan to turn the corner, catching yellow eyes with his own, letting the Galra know with full certainty that he was aware of him and what he was doing before gesturing inside. To Dumah’s surprise, Kolivan merely nodded and followed him in. The door closed behind them, and Dumah crossed his arms, keeping several feet of space between them, waiting.

The leader of the Blade did not disappoint.

“You’ve noticed me. I imagine you would like to know why.”

Dumah gave him a bland look. Kolivan’s stoicism didn’t budge. It surprised him, however, what the Blade’s said next.

“Who are you?”

Dumah stared at Kolivan, the Blade standing before him intense and unmoving. It didn’t make sense why the Galra was curious. Sure, he’d once been the servant of Haggar, but Dumah had never crossed paths with a Blade before. He’d never known they’d existed, and the witch had never said a word.

Yet Kolivan looked at him as if he were a puzzle. He looked at him as if he was almost familiar.

“I’ve asked about you,” Kolivan said. “The Paladins of Voltron, they tell me that you don’t know who you are. You don’t have a past beyond your servitude to the witch, Haggar.” He paused and added more quietly. “They say you’re half-Altean. That you’re ten thousand deca-phoebs old.”

Dumah gave him a cool look but didn’t move to deny it. These were truths. There was no point in denying them, though he failed to see where this was going.

“What if I told you that I might know who you are?” Kolivan said. “Not as Haggar’s slave, but as the person you might have been before. Would that interest you?”

His fists clenched and he glowered because _of course_ it interested him. He knew nothing except his existence as the weapon of the High Priestess, murderer and monster of the Galra Empire. There had been a before, there _had_ to have been. It was the only thing that made sense. He _wanted_ to know.

But what if he did not like who that person had been. What if he’d been worse than he was now?

What if he’d been better?

“Come with me to the Blade,” Kolivan said, startling him. “We might both find the answers we’re looking for.”

Dumah couldn’t help himself. He signed his question, allowing the system to translate for him.

[And if we don’t find those answers?]

Kolivan blinked at the message, surprised, but he hid it well.

“Then we’re no worse off than we started, only I’m inclined to trust you less.”

It was a strange statement to make. Why would Kolivan, the leader of the Blade of Marmora trust him at all if he was whoever the Blade suspected him to be? Who was that person?

Dumah _wanted_ to know.

A soft knock broke the silence and Princess Allura entered. Her presence broke whatever curiosity had stolen over him, and he realized how foolish this was. Whoever Kolivan believed him to be, there was little chance it was a correct assumption. He’d been the witch’s slave for millennia. No one save the Emperor and the quintessence laden Druids lived that long, and there was no reason the Galra Empire would willingly choose to keep someone associated with a group intent on destroying them as close as he had been.

This was all foolish, and he was the biggest fool for almost believing.

“Oh, you have company,” Princess Allura said and Dumah quickly shook his head to indicate that, in fact, he didn’t. He stepped closer to her and signed, asking what she wanted. “We were about to reconvene to discuss our plan. I wanted to make sure you were there. Your perspective would be beneficial.”

“Agreed, and we should be leaving.” Kolivan stepped around them, and Dumah had to admit he was impressed by the Blade’s nonchalance. “There isn’t much time.”

He continued away, and when the Galra was far enough, Princess Allura arched a brow curiously.

“What did Kolivan want?”

Dumah watched Kolivan’s back as he left to join the others on the bridge. Everything the Blade had said still weighed on his mind, tugged at his curiosity. Activated his caution. In the end, he only shook his head.

[Nothing]

The princess didn’t appear convinced, but she didn’t press either and he followed her to begin the briefing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter but now we've got a little traction on plot again! And is anyone excited that Kolivan is suspicious?? I know I'm very excited :]
> 
> Just a reminder that since the chapters are short this week, there will be a post on Saturday. Until then!


	11. The Balmera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's up for a road (space) trip~
> 
> Enjoy!

With the Blade of Marmora as new allies and the timetable advanced to immediately, the plan to defeat the Emperor required a great deal of preparation and action from all involved, and speed was of the essence. The Paladins were quickly split up and sent to recover critical components of the plan while Coran went to Olkarion to work with the Olkari to develop a teleduv the likes of which they could use against Zarkon.

Coran had offered to let him join, but he wasn’t the only one who’d asked for his attendance. Once again Kolivan had offered to take him to the Blade, but he quickly refused both when Princess Allura mentioned she would head to the Balmera to collect a pivotal piece of the plan herself. Without hesitating, he volunteered to stay with her as her guard and to support her in whatever it was she needed.

He was surprised when she said yes.

Coran pouted but Kolivan had only nodded thoughtfully before leaving to prepare the Blades for battle, promising to return later when everything had been assembled. Dumah, for one, was relieved to see him go. What Kolivan had said, the possibility that he might know who he was, the thoughts nagged at him and he wished they wouldn’t. A part of him wanted to know if perhaps this Blade knew something about him. The truth even.

But most of him did not, and he would be lying to say it had nothing to do with Princess Allura.

“You know, you didn’t have to come with me,” Princess Allura said from her position on the bridge, watching the stars fly by. The course had been plotted, the trip would take several quintants. There was a slight smile at the corner of her lips. “We know these Balmerans. They’re a kind people, allies. I would have been completely safe.”

Dumah did not move from her side, simply continued to stand next to her with his hands at the small of his back. She sighed, but there was also amusement too. Amusement he found he rather enjoyed hearing.

“But I must admit I enjoy the company, no matter how quiet it is.”

He enjoyed their time together too, and alone like this had never happened before. Usually the other Paladins were close, and Coran was never far away from his princess – not that Dumah minded. But he did value his and the princess’s time together. He felt different around her, less haunted, as if she chased away the shadows that clung incessantly to him. She’d saved him from Haggar. She’d liberated him from the witch’s hold by removing his collar and then the muzzle. It was through her that he had even taken the small steps he had toward recovery.

He could never thank her enough. And if she asked, he would never leave her side, happy to serve her and support her cause ridding the universe of Zarkon. He believed in her and Voltron. She’d given him freedom. Choice.

And he chose her.

A small smile curled the edge of his lips. That was a new thing. He’d never even known he could smile — even a little — until Shiro had pointed it out to him one day. As always, it was Princess Allura who pulled it out of him. It was always her who managed it.

They’d been traveling all day, crossing space at a steady rate, and he had to admire her drive. Now that there was a plan and real momentum, she’d hardly paused to rest. He knew because he’d stood by her the entire time as she’d thrown herself into everything she’d done. It was partially why he was pleased to have stayed with her for this. He could watch out for her. Help her, if she would let him.

For the last several vargas, he’d noticed her flagging slightly and had felt her energy drop from use. Nothing extreme but he could sense her fatigue. It was why he was ready when her legs abruptly buckled. He moved fast, not with quintessence, but with his own body.

He caught her.

It struck him that he’d never realized how warm she was and that despite all this time they actually hadn’t touched past the one time she’d taken his hands. Not since the beginning, and those memories were dark and corrupted and edged with the near-death, madness, and suspicion which had dominated him. It was different now. He was different now.

And she was so warm.

Her eyes lowered but her cheeks darkened in blush as she let him help her to her feet.

“Thank you, I’m so sorry about that,” she said, embarrassed. “Perhaps it has been a longer day than I’d thought.”

He let her go but also noticed the way she lingered in his touch. How the muscles under her skin were strong despite the softness of her.

Sure she was steady on her feet, he stepped away, but to his surprise she stopped him.

“Are you hungry? I haven’t cooked in, well ten thousand deca-phoebs, and I could do with a taste of home.” The blush on her cheeks became more prominent but she still smiled at him. “Would you like to try some? You certainly don’t have to, I mean, I understand you’re still getting used to solid foods, and—”

Dumah surprised himself when he reached for her hand and gently squeezed it. Let his eyes soften before giving a small nod.

He was overwhelmed by her exuberance and joy, and that she didn’t pull away.

“Wonderful! Perhaps you’d even like to assist as my sous chef? I’m no Hunk in the kitchen, but I could use an extra set of hands.”

They were already walking toward the kitchen, and every plan Dumah had considered spending the rest of his evening doing fell away as she spoke, regaling him of stories of her life and her home and happier times he was relieved she’d had.

* * *

The trip to the Balmera was perhaps the most peaceful and happiest time in Dumah’s memory, without exception. It was true he did not deviate much from his routine. He practiced eating and followed Hunk’s schedule. He spent extensive amounts of time in the training room, working on his swordsmanship and his accuracy with a laser gun. He practiced signing with the computer program so he could continue to develop his vocabulary and ability. He was becoming quite fast.

But he found what spare time he had was spent in the company of Princess Allura. Or, with growing frequency, she was visiting him. More than once they’d sparred together. They sometimes stopped using the signing program so that they could practice with each other instead, even if his side of the conversation was often lacking in depth given his reluctance to tell her about the past he did remember. She made more Altean meals for them, and he smiled and nodded thanks, even if it was perhaps too seasoned for his tastes. Sometimes she would even touch him, a hand on his arm, on his hand, leaning ever so slightly against him when they were both recovering from sparring or taking both of his hands in hers whenever they’d had a successful conversation.

These little things made his heart skip in ways he’d never experienced before, and it was hard to ignore the telling signs of attraction blooming in his chest. He kept getting lost in the glitter of her hair as it hung like a cloud around her shoulders, framing and highlighting her beautiful dark skin and causing her Altean markings to all but glow on her cheeks. The sound of her voice as she spoke. The gentle, floral scent of her.

Her eyes, however, were what he most looked forward to. Those eyes had seen beyond the monster and found _him_. Her eyes did not see a monster. They saw something else. Perhaps they even saw the truth.

Dumah knew it shouldn’t, but this warmed him. Made him feel … well, he wasn’t sure. But less like a monster. Perhaps not like a monster at all.

He couldn’t recall a better time in his life. He never wanted it to end, and he hoped that once the plan was in motion, once they succeeded and the universe was safe from the Emperor and the Galra, that this would somehow continue. That he might be able to find a place in her world, near her at least, if not by her side.

It was strange to Dumah how much he wanted that. But a good strange.

They were both in a good, uplifted mood by the time they reached the Balmera, and he found himself strangely excited to be there. When they stepped off the ship, he couldn’t help but wait at the side as he watched the Balmeran people greet the princess warmly and with excitement. She truly brought light and goodness with her no matter where she went.

“And allow me to introduce a dear friend of mine,” Princess Allura said. “This is Dumah.”

And where she brought light he clearly brought darkness because the Balmerans immediately darkened at his presence. He was not as bothered by this display as she was. It would be like this for as long as he was alive, he assumed. It only made sense, given his Galran heritage, no matter how unwanted it was.

“You vouch for this … man?” an elderly Balmeran asked and Princess Allura nodded immediately.

“Absolutely. As I said, he is a dear friend of mine, and we both come with goodwill.” She waved him forward. “Right now he is acting as my guardian as we travel. I trust him.”

“Then if Princess Allura trusts you,” the elderly Balmeran said reluctantly, “We shall do the same.”

Despite the decision that had been made, it was clear he would be regarded with strict suspicion. He approved of the behavior, even if the princess did not. Such behavior would likely save their lives one day. Still, they did not attack him, and he followed by the princess’s side as they delved deep within the Balmera in search of a crystal large enough to power the teleduv. He’d only ever seen such stones in ships and in Haggar’s labs, always violet and corrupted.

The uncorrupted stone they found was unlike anything he could have ever imagined, and it glowed with pure, untouched quintessence.

“Can you feel it?” Princess Allura asked as she stared at it with awe in her eyes. “This is the biggest crystal I’ve ever seen. It’s practically radiating.”

Dumah nodded. In fact it felt a lot like he was being bombarded by its energy, and all he could think was that the High Priestess would have killed for a crystal like this. Would have made him kill for it. Would have made him consume it.

His body ached with sudden, unshakable need as memories of what it felt like to consume – how invigorating and powerful if felt no matter how wrong – flooded his mind at the simple thought, and he clenched his fists, though the princess did not see. She was too enamored with the crystal to notice much else, much to his relief. Her hands rested upon the faceted side, and to his surprise the energy contained within it grew stronger, denser.

The princess glowed as she and the crystal and the Balmera itself shared energy, and he watched it flow between them like a circuit that only grew and compounded in strength. It was … unbelievable. He’d never seen quintessence used like this before. So … purely. Freely given.

Like all the Balmerans around him, he was in awe of her.

To his surprise, Princess Allura smiled at him, motioning him forward.

“Here, you’re Altean, like me. I want you to feel this.”

He startled, he couldn’t help it. He’d been so focused on her that he hadn’t even considered that he might do the same – that despite being part-Galra, he was also half-Altean as well. He could use quintessence just as she could. He could do this too.

He wanted to. He wanted to be as pure as she was.

She took his hand when he was close enough, her warm digits wrapping around his in a way that made his heart race in his chest. Their eyes caught and the world drowned out to nothing more than the blue of her eyes and the glow of energy from the stone. That look of confidence made him forget everything, Emperor Zarkon, the witch, the Galra Empire, everything that had been done to him. For a moment he couldn’t recall anything except her and what she wanted. He wanted to prove he _was_ good. That he wasn’t that corrupted monster the witch had made anymore.

He wanted to prove himself to her.

The moment his hand pressed against the stone and he reached toward it with his quintessence, the Balmera screamed.

It was only an instant but it was enough to cause him to jerk back reflexively, shattering the contact before he stumbled back and away. Several Balmerans were shouting furiously, the princess was trying to calm the situation, but he hardly heard any of it. His mind was reeling because he _knew_ what had happened.

He’d felt the energy and reflexively started to leach it away like it was the only way one could possibly interact with quintessence, whereas Princess Allura had attempted to provide. Her quintessence was nothing but purity. His was nothing but corruption. _He_ was corrupted. And he’d almost tried to consume it, even though that had not been what he’d meant to do. It had been mere reflex. He even _wanted_ to do it after tasting such purity. The need swelled in every bone and muscle like the deepest craving.

Horror sat like tar in his chest, and the princess frowned.

“Perhaps it would be best if you waited at the ship?” she suggested, a tightness edging her eyes. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

As far as dismissals went, it was sugarcoated, but clear enough. He didn’t need to be told twice. The Balmerans were protective of her, they would be protection enough.

He twisted space and put as much space between himself and the Balmeran crystals as possible.

The rest of the time was mostly a blur of motion as a Robeast of the witch’s broke free to terrorize the Balmera and threaten the princess and Voltron, and he let himself sink into the action, focused only because he needed to be, but if the need had not been real he’d have hardly bothered. Not after what had just happened. Not when he’d finally begun to hope that after all this change he was more than just the monster the High Priestess had made him be.

But if the Balmera’s reaction to him – if _his_ reaction to the Balmera was right, he wasn’t. He was corrupted. Less than Altean. Perhaps even less than Galra. He was a creature. A monster only capable of killing, hurting, taking, and now that she’d seen it, she had to know the truth despite everything she hoped and desired for him. This wasn’t something that could be rationalized away. The Balmera had screamed when it had interacted with him. Whether she knew it or not, his first instinct, before he’d had a conscious thought, had been to take the energy it had available. Drain it for everything it had. Kill it.

And that … it was unforgivable.

As they left the Balmera, the fight with the Robeast over and the threat finally defeated, Dumah found he could not feel the same enthusiasm the others did. Instead, a chill had taken root in his chest, and all he could replay in his mind was the way his quintessence had caused the Balmera to react. How it had howled in pain, rejecting him for so much as touching it. He remembered the look of accusation and question in the Balmeran’s eyes.

And more than that, he’d seen the gentle blue energy that had swept out from the princess, calming everything. Untainted. Pure. Nothing like his own.

Before long he found himself in his room, sitting on his bed, his hands upright as he studied them. Yes. She’d been right when they were in that deep cavern. Dumah was part-Altean. That was why he was able to do what he did. To feel and manipulate quintessence.

But he wasn’t all Altean. Like his energy, he was corrupted. Impure.

And he wondered how long it would take Princess Allura to realize that one, unforgivable truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, there's a disturbance in the Force. I hope you're excited for the next chapter because it's a doozy~
> 
> See you all on Monday :]


	12. Feed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all ready because it's time to buckle up and hold on. A lot's about to happen~ Enjoy!
> 
> TWs: torture

The Blade of Marmora returned once all the preparations had been made, ready and eager to put the plan into motion. Kolivan appeared focused and relentlessly determined. Dumah had not seen the Galra’s gaze flicker even a moment toward him.

Yet Dumah supposed he wasn’t surprised when in the small moments before everything was about to begin, he heard a knock at his door and opened it to find the Blade there, face impassive but eyes intent.

“There is something I wish to speak with you about,” he said. “May I come in?”

The desire to refuse nipped at Dumah’s chest but he ignored it and stepped aside. Ever since what had happened at the Balmera, finding out that his quintessence was so deeply corrupted, the words this Blade had said had been circling his thoughts with more frequency than he cared for.

He wanted to know if Kolivan _did_ know who he really was.

“Were you waiting for me?”

Dumah didn’t bother to respond past crossing his arms and waiting as the door shut them in together.

“Have you thought about what I said?”

This time Dumah’s eyes narrowed. Kolivan seemed to understand. To his surprise, the leader of the Blade reached behind himself and produced a ceremonial blade not unlike one Keith kept. At first he wondered if it was Kolivan’s, and why Kolivan was offering it to him. But the Blade’s own weapon rested openly at his side. This was a different one. Someone else’s.

“Take it,” Kolivan said. “This will help answer both of our questions.”

Dumah didn’t take it immediately. He studied it as if it might attack him or grace him with insight, and he wondered if perhaps the truth was that it would do both because just the sight of it had a magnetic effect on him. Dumah _wanted_ to take the handle in his palm. There was something about it that was almost familiar. It was an uncomfortable feeling given it shouldn’t be familiar at all. This was a _Blade_ weapon.

Kolivan flipped the knife, offering it handle first, and steeling himself Dumah wrapped his fingers around it. It was heavy, deadly and sharp, but also a thing of beauty. Twisting it, he soaked in the intricate yet clean detailing. Gaged its weight to be perfect in his palm. It was a small, but marvelous weapon.

From within the deep darkness of his mind and the ever-present crevice between himself and whatever was beyond, a notion struck him. This wasn’t its true form. It could be bigger. Stronger. Better.

Dumah merely willed it so.

Kolivan’s breath was sharp, but not as loud as the sound of the blade dropping to the ground out of surprise, given that it was now a long, elegant sword when it had been nothing more than a knife. It lay there between them, dejected yet waiting. Dumah could still feel the imprint of it on his palm. Felt its shape change before it had even shifted. He remembered Keith’s story about how his had transformed just like this one had. How it could only change for a true member of the Blade of Marmora. A Galran Blade.

Dumah glowered at Kolivan even as Kolivan knelt and picked it up. Immediately it changed back into its knife-form as if to keep its true form secret, but it didn’t matter now. Whatever truth it had kept, it had shared, and it couldn’t be taken back. Not now.

Kolivan let out a long, slow breath before he looked at Dumah. “So it is you. You survived.”

Now more than any other time in his life did he wish he could speak. He wanted to demand what the Blade meant. He wanted to know who he was because it was abundantly clear that Kolivan _knew_ , and not only that, he knew what had happened to him to make him like this. He knew who he’d been before the edge of his memories faded. He _knew_.

Dumah bared his teeth and his hands crackled with energy he could not quite control as emotions roared through him. But unlike how Princess Allura and her Paladins would often react to such displays, with caution and trepidation, Kolivan remained steady and his eyes did not falter. Not once.

“You do not know who you are, but I do. This ceremonial blade has proved it. It would not react for anyone other than its true owner.”

_And who is that?_ Dumah mentally demanded. Who _was_ he?

“When this fight with Zarkon is over, you must come with me back to the Blade of Marmora,” Kolivan said instead. “All of the answers you seek are there. With us, you can relearn who you are. Any harm that has been done to you at the hands of Zarkon and his witch can be healed. There is help and there are answers for you there, I give you my word.” To his surprise, Kolivan’s hands clenched and his eyes turned earnest. “I _swear_ it.”

Of all things that quieted his mind, it was the stoic Blade’s fervent words. Dumah sensed no deception there, and whatever revelation he’d gleaned from the interaction had cemented something profound. Dumah believed him. Dumah believed in very, very little, but he believed that Kolivan was telling the truth. He believed that if he went to the Blade, he would find out who he was.

But what about Princess Allura?

“Dumah. Kolivan. We’re ready,” Princess Allura said through the intercom, breaking the silence between them. Dumah mindlessly touched the button that signaled he’d received her message and was on his way, but it did not stop him from searching the Galra’s face.

Unfortunately now wasn’t the time, and despite the need building in him for answers, there was a fight coming, one against the Emperor himself. This had to wait. They both knew it.

Kolivan passed him, but as he did, he pressed the knife back in his hands. “Keep it. Whether you know it or not, it is yours. It will protect you.”

When they arrived at the bridge, the knife was still in his hand, his mind was still preoccupied, and it was only once Princess Allura’s clear voice spoke that he achieved a fraction of focus at all.

“Why do you have a knife of the Blade of Marmora?” she asked.

Dumah frowned, staring at the blade in his hand. Nearby he knew Kolivan was listening, waiting for a response. Waiting to see what Dumah might indicate.

He indicated nothing. Merely tucked it away in a sheath at his side and gestured to the meeting. He needed to focus. The plan required focus and no distractions.

Not even when the answers he was looking for were at the tips of his fingers.

* * *

The plan, as plans often did, fell apart, but not so much so that between the Voltron Paladins, the Castle of Lions, and the Blade of Marmora, it was unsalvageable. Struggle had been the word that came to Dumah’s mind as he’d waited with the princess for the next part of the plan, gritting his teeth along with everyone else as Keith infiltrated and fought to render Zarkon’s ship powerless. The teleduv was ready, they were all anxiously waiting and running out of time.

And then it had worked.

They’d removed Zarkon’s ship from its position to one of their choosing, and the Paladins of Voltron were making quick work of his headquarters while it was still in a state of blackout. For one brief moment, it appeared as if they were fast enough to succeed.

That was before he’d felt the icy creep of quintessence he’d known as long as he had memory, and he’d watched as what could only be the Komar struck Voltron and rendered it as useless and dead as Zarkon’s ship. He’d barely heard Princess Allura demanding an explanation or Kolivan giving it. He’d barely noticed that the Paladins of Voltron had against all odds survived the attack. Only one thing sat in his mind.

_She_ was there. The High Priestess. The _witch._ The being he’d escaped the moment he’d had the opportunity. The one who’d rendered him mute, sewn his mouth shut, and muzzled him for reasons he didn’t even know while turning him into a half-alive quintessence wielding monster.

_She was there_. And to save the Paladins, he and the others had to find a way to stop her.

When Princess Allura proposed the idea, she and the Blades were quick to react, and although his hands were shaking he’d gone too. Only the princess had noticed.

“You don’t need to come,” she said, lips tight and eyes firm. “This is the monster that did so many terrible things to you, you don’t have too—”

Dumah lifted a hand to stop her, held her eyes resolutely his own and shook his head. No. No, he _did_ have to go. If he was going to move on from what had happened, if he was going to find a way to clear this taint in his quintessence, he sensed that the High Priestess was a key to do it. After all, she had done this to him. He had to face her, no matter the cost.

That, and he could not let Princess Allura go alone. No matter the monster he was, she was not, and he’d be damned if he let the witch do anything which would hurt or harm her even in the slightest. So if not for himself than he would go for her.

And they went.

Sneaking up on the Druids was easier than he’d expected, but then they’d been focused on launching another Komar. The very idea of such tainted quintessence and the way it was being used enraged Dumah and he moved ahead of the team, reaching into space and finding himself next to the nearest druid. The man gasped, realizing the danger and attempting to get away, but Dumah was well ahead of him. Too prepared.

He thrust the blade Kolivan had given him deep into the druid’s body, gritted his teeth as latent shocks of quintessence attempted to stop him. But even though it had been almost two phoebs since he’d last been attacked this way, thousands of deca-phoebs could not be erased. The pain was nothing more than familiar. Endurable. And then the druid fell to his knees and was gone.

By this point the rest of the team had arrived and fights were erupting across the room on several platforms. Dumah didn’t stay in one place for too long. That would spell his death in short order, so he focused on the next flare of quintessence and drew himself toward it with his blade in position, hoping it would be the witch herself.

It wasn’t, but the druid must have seen what he’d done to the first because she’d snarled and vanished the moment Dumah appeared, starting a chase that was dizzying and furious as they appeared within instants of each other to strike before moving again. It would have gone on longer if a bolt of quintessent lightning hadn’t flared to life between them, giving his quarry the chance she needed to escape. At that point, however, Dumah didn’t care. His mind went quiet. Fury burned his chest.

The High Priestess. The Witch of Zarkon. Haggar. She stood on the highest platform above him and before he’d realized it he was level with her, face vicious and hand shaking around the pommel of his blade, electricity sparking along the fully activated sword’s length.

But he did not attack, not yet. He of all people knew better than to think she didn’t have some sort of plan in mind.

“You,” the witch said as if amused. “My lost weapon returns to me, and with the Altean Princess no less.”

The way she said it caused him to seethe. Made it sound like he’d _meant_ for this to happen. Had manipulated Princess Allura, brought her here to put her in danger when the truth was the opposite entirely. Reacting, his hands crackled threateningly. There was no collar to control him now, nothing to stop her from _paying_ for everything she’d done.

Dumah had never realized he’d craved revenge, but standing here now before her, there was no doubt in his mind that the emotion he felt all but streaming out of him was vengeance. Fury. He would make the witch _pay_.

He attacked.

Haggar laughed, taunting him, flickering in and out of existence faster than he had ever been able to manage.

“And here I thought you’d get stronger, but clearly what wretched freedom you stole for yourself has done nothing but make you weak.” Her voice was like shattered glass in his ears, clawing at him and scarring his soul. “You even removed your muzzle and ripped out your stitches. I must admit, after so long, I didn’t think you had it in you. But how did it feel to realize that even after all of that, you still couldn’t speak? That after all this time you _still_ don’t have the faintest idea of who you are?”

Dumah snarled, baring his teeth as he threw himself into doing whatever it took to kill her. Millenia of rage forced down into the void of his emotions after lifetimes of slavery were welling up in waves, making him see red and filling his soul with fire. She’d done all of this to him. She _knew_ who he’d once been and was using that knowledge to taunt him, and he hated that it was working because she was _right_. After all this time he was still no closer to who he once had been. He hadn’t even known if he’d wanted to know who that person was. After all, whoever he’d been hadn’t been strong enough to escape her. He hadn’t been strong enough to resist her or fight the taint she’d planted within his very soul, the taint he now fought every day to purge. Why would he want to know that person? They’d been _weak_.

But the way she spoke about who he’d been, like it had been a triumph to do what she’d done to him made him want to know now. Who had he been that she’d done _this_ to him? Who had he been to deserve _this?_ And why of all things did a ceremonial blade of the Marmora react to him?

Now … _now_ he wanted to know. And if that meant he had to beat the witch to death to do it, then _so be it_.

At the very least he’d have his revenge for what she’d done. He surged.

Too late he realized he’d fallen into her trap.

Quintessence arched out of the ground, shocking him from multiple locations, but more than that it was tying him down. He knew this spell, had been victim to it more times than he could count. It would restrain him. Interact with the quintessence in his armor to lock him down and disable him. Dumah struggled against the energy, but the harder he struggled the worse it got. His legs shook and he fed quintessence into them, forcing them to resist, but he wasn’t a fool. He hadn’t fed on the quintessence of others to have enough to fight the witch off. He’d barely had enough for himself as it was. He would not last long.

The thought filled him with dread because if he did not last, if he did not fight her off, he would become her slave again, or worse.

And he would rather _die_.

Blue energy flooded the area, jarring the violet quintessence and as the conduit between the two, Dumah was inundated. Bombarded. A soundless scream raced out of his body as the energies fought between and within him, corrupt and pure alike and his mind blew apart. His thoughts thundered within the dark of his mind, a storm that could not be controlled, and the ferocity of it cause sharp cracks to form in the nothingness. Princess Allura screamed. The blue energy grew stronger.

The void withdrew briefly, but it was enough.

Pain raced through his mind as a flood of memories attacked him. They poured in from the dark abyss, the place he’d thought would never open in his mind, and he was overwhelmed by images. Sensations. By thoughts and ideas someone had had — that _he_ had had — but it was all jumbled up and confusing. A storm of broken glass he couldn’t piece together without being ripped apart at the same time.

“Are you all right?” Princess Allura asked, her voice sounding so far away. Hands grounded him and he blinked rapidly, trying to regain his faculties. Everything was a mess. He couldn’t make sense of what was real. The sensations, the flashes, there was something there and he couldn’t let go of it, but he knew he _needed_ to because the witch was there and he’d be damned if he let her and his father take—

His eyes widened. His father?

“Dumah!”

Reality snapped back into place, shattering what little puzzle piece he’d managed to cling to in the wake of quintessent overload. Broken as he was, he saw the Altean Princess and forced himself to ignore everything except her, the fight, and ensuring that she got out of this safely. He was free and that meant she’d saved him again. He forced himself to his feet, body shaking with the strain, but it didn’t matter. There was hate in his soul now for the witch who stood before them. She was getting ready to attack, he could feel it. He would _not_ let her get the upper hand over him again.

“Saved again by the Altean Princess.” Hagger smirked. “What a romantic story for a creature like you.”

His hands crackled. He didn’t have much quintessence left but he had enough for this. He’d kill her, leach away what life she had as she’d made him drain so many others. It was fitting. It was _right_. Princess Allura would be safe. Voltron would succeed against Zarkon. The universe would be saved, _finally_. After all this time. After so very long.

The witch’s smirk widened.

“I don’t suppose she knows just how much of a monster you really are, does she? Well, I’ll have to open her eyes to that. One must always know the worst of their pets. And let me guess. I imagine you’ve been starving yourself after all this time. You’re quite hungry, aren’t you?”

The rage he’d been cultivating sputtered out and replaced with nothing but pure, icy panic. He wheeled back, frantic. All thoughts of fight transformed into flight, and he had to get away. _Now._ The princess caught him. He ripped his arm out of her hold. He had to _go_. He couldn’t _be_ here. He couldn’t be _near her._

But it was too late.

“Slave,” the High Priestess said, her voice ringing out and ironclad. Identical in every way to every order he’d ever received from her. Including the worst. The one she was about to unleash. He tried to stop it. Tried to ignore it, tried _everything,_ but it wasn’t enough. It was never _enough_. He heard it.

“Feed.”

Dumah blacked out.

* * *

The eyes he saw when he awoke were not blue like he’d expected, hoped, feared. They were yellow. They were Kolivan’s.

And he was hoisted over the Galra’s shoulder as they and Princess Allura raced away from the explosion that was Zarkon’s destructive mech, the Lions of Voltron already streaking toward the Castle of Lions. The motions were jarring, his head ached while his body all but rejoiced with energy that flooded throughout him, energy that had not originally been his, and he knew he’d fed on the quintessence of others. Who, he did not know. How many, he did not know that either. All he knew was that he had.

Dumah was filled with shame.

But he was powerful now, more powerful than he had been since his rescue, and infuriated he twisted from Kolivan’s grasp and struck out at any Galra who threatened to get in their way. Lightning arched out from his hands, exploding Galran fighters where they landed and Dumah could not help it. He was filled with so much hate. So much hate at what had been done to him, what he’d been unable to stop himself from doing. Hate at the _witch_.

Hate at himself.

They reached the Castle of Lions safely and hurried to the bridge. He’d expected the princess to say something to him, to confront him, to look at him coldly but she did none of that. Her focus was pressed only on escape. A wormhole appeared and in an instant they were away. The fight was behind them. They’d defeated Zarkon.

Or he hoped they had. He hoped he had not done anything unforgivable in those moments he could not remember. He hoped for a great deal. He feared for more.

Kolivan’s eyes were a heavy weight on him, and in truth he was grateful. Whatever had happened, Kolivan had survived. If Dumah did something else, something unthinkable because of whatever horrors the witch had done to him while he’d served her, he believed the Blade could stop him.

But Princess Allura hadn’t yet looked at him, and as the Paladins commed in to let her know they were in the castle and safe, she rushed out to find them without a glance his way. He stared after her, dread building in his chest. It was only him and Kolivan now on the bridge.

Dumah stepped in front of the Blade and made it very clear he would not move until he received answers.

Kolivan gave them.

“It appears that while Haggar held you captive, she … programmed you.” Kolivan had the decency not to look away. “After she issued the command, you attempted to steal quintessence from everyone and everything which was not the witch. You killed two druids this way. You almost killed me.”

A chill raced down Dumah’s back. Clearly he had failed to kill the Blade’s leader. But as terrible as that was, his concern was not for the rogue Galra. His hands slowly clenched, and his glower demanded an answer.

Kolivan once again provided it. “She fought you off, but you did attack Princess Allura. Haggar attempted to make you kill the princess, and when that didn’t work, she ordered you to return with her to the keep. The princess stopped you by hitting you with quintessence of her own. Then we escaped while the witch was distracted.”

A shaky breath shuddered out of his chest, and his heart was a knot of twisting black things tangling tighter and tighter with no promise of ever letting go. He’d attacked her. She’d seen him attack and kill others, stealing their quintessence, a mindless weapon of the High Priestess.

But she’d also saved him again.

He twisted space and appeared in the Lions’ hold. All of the Paladins were gathered around the Black Lion, everyone was calling for Shiro, but immediately Dumah knew something was wrong. After two phoebs, he was familiar with the energy signature of all of the Voltron Paladins.

He could not feel Shiro’s.

In time, one by one the Paladins left. Some were frantic. Some were angry. Keith immediately took the Red Lion and left. Soon only the princess remained, staring up at the Black Lion. Dumah could not stop himself from approaching, though he made attempts to be louder than usual. Announce his presence so as not to startle her.

At the sound of him she whipped around, but when she saw him it was as if nothing earlier had happened. She walked toward him, her composure starting to crack around the edges before stopping next to him.

“Shiro, he—we,” pain flashed across her eyes. “We have no idea what happened, and we don’t know where he is. He’s not here.”

Dumah’s lips pressed thin. He wished he had an answer for her, but now that he was closer to the Black Lion … he felt nothing. Nothing except the Lion’s energy, and he had not felt the tie that connected it to Shiro. Zarkon’s was still there, albeit faint and almost entirely dead. But Shiro’s … his was gone.

He did not want to tell her what he thought that meant.

Still, she was clearly in pain, and he could not help but be moved by the sight of her. As terrible as he knew he was, he could not help it. This was the woman who had saved him, who had helped him when no one else had. She’d seen something in him that had made him hope for the first time in his existence that he wasn’t just the weapon the witch had made him into. The one person who’d seen past the horror he’d been.

Dumah abruptly realized he cared for her. Deeply.

He shifted closer, and for a moment he was hopeful. She did not turn away. She did not look away from him. There was tension in her eyes, yes, but he did not see a look reserved for the vile. Her blue eyes still held his. Princess Allura truly was fine after what had happened to him. After the witch had revealed the depths of his evils. She still saw him and believed in him. Trusted him. Unable to stop himself, Dumah lifted a hand to touch her.

Princess Allura flinched away.

Numbness filled his chest as the truth – the real truth – became abundantly clear. His hand dropped. He’d been wrong. She did see him differently. She had been affected, even though it hadn’t been his choice.

Dumah truly was a monster.

He turned to leave but she moved quickly, fingers wrapping around his wrist.

“Dumah, wait. It-it’s not what you think.”

It was exactly what he thought. He could see it in her eyes. After all, he’d always valued them for their honesty. Her words might be lies, but her eyes, they never lied. And they weren’t lying now.

She was afraid.

Gently he pried her fingers from his wrist and let them go. Then, without looking back, he left.

* * *

Kolivan was leaving, having said all the momentary farewells he needed to after promising to be in touch with Voltron as the campaign against the Galra Empire continued. With or without the Black Paladin. Dumah had watched Kolivan carefully from the shadows until now, settling on his decision.

But his decision was made. He knew what he needed to do, and as Kolivan’s hatch closed, Dumah twisted space and slipped inside. Kolivan, for his part, didn’t appear surprised. They regarded each other for a moment, the silence between them telling.

Finally Dumah lifted his hand. The ceremonial blade Kolivan had given him sat there, his choice clear.

The Blade nodded.

“And Princess Allura?”

Dumah’s jaw clenched but he refused to glance over his shoulder toward the flight deck and the Castle of Lions where the Altean Princess stayed. He had no place here. Her Paladins would protect her and keep her safe. They would find a way to summon Voltron again. They would be fine. They certainly did not need him. Her castle did not need a monster.

And so he would not stay, and after all, Kolivan had promised a great deal. The Blade of Marmora held the key to the past he could not remember. If what the Galra had said was true, they might even be able to heal him. And even if they couldn’t, one thing was certain. He could not be around Princess Allura, not anymore. Her safety was the most important thing to him, and he would ensure she was safe, at least from him.

He’d made his decision. His eyes were locked on the Blade’s.

“Very well.”

Kolivan gestured to the empty co-pilot’s seat and soundlessly Dumah took it. Together they prepared for launch. Wordlessly they left.

Dumah did not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He left :( 
> 
> Guess we're going to have to wait till Thursday to find out what happens next!


	13. Geeva

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, look! We've passed the half-way mark! 
> 
> And now things are going to *really* change :] Enjoy!

Dumah had been with the Blade three quintants before he’d seen anyone besides Kolivan and Antok, and in truth, he would have been fine to see and meet no one else for the rest of his loathsome existence. The Blade of Marmora was a place filled with silence and intent, and after his rescue, after Voltron, the Paladins, Princess Allura and a touch of life that had never been his to experience, silence was all he wanted. Silence was his home. It had always _been_ his home, and here with the Blade, that mentality appeared to be identical amongst the rest. He could feel them, their quintessence, but they stayed well away.

He was glad of it.

Kneeling in silence in his room, unmoving and dressed in a Blade uniform with a body bare of intake valves he’d ripped out furiously and healed with the excess energy he’d had the first day he’d arrived, he focused on putting all of that behind him. He wasn’t here for the princess or Voltron or the Dumah they’d thought they could trust. He wasn’t here for the Dumah a part of him wanted to be.

He was here because Kolivan promised answers, and after thousands of deca-phoebs of knowing nothing of himself, he would do _whatever_ it took to fix that. To be who he once was, if it was possible in the slightest. To become something other than what he was. Other than … this. The weapon of the witch. The slave and monster she had made him.

Dumah’s eyes were already open before the soft knock on his door sounded. He was on his feet and waiting when Kolivan entered followed by, to his surprise, a short, old Galran woman. She wore the same style of Blade uniform, but clearly she was no fighter. At least, not anymore, if she ever was. Hers were comfortable robes of dusky grays and violets.

Her presence was nothing short of peaceful.

“There is someone you should meet,” Kolivan said. “It has taken her some time to arrive, but she is here to help you. She is who will help you recover your memories.”

Dumah couldn’t help but eye the woman, and not for the first time did he wish that the same helpful language program that had existed at the Castle of Lions existed here as well. The Blade did not know Lance’s sign language, and so once again he could do very little to communicate. He wanted to know who she was and what she intended to do to help him. He wanted to tell her that her work was cut out for her. That he wasn’t convinced thousands of deca-phoebs of whatever had been done to him could be undone.

This old woman had the gentlest eyes, despite being Galra.

“Hello, dear,” she said, a kind smile on her lips, and it was almost a shock to hear her voice. Her words barely disturbed his silence, but they were so clear all the same. “My name is Geeva. Kolivan told me you are in need of a healer. I am one of the best.”

A healer? Dumah frowned. He wanted to tell her that he was not injured. That there were no wounds to heal. Instead all he did was sigh. If this was the best Kolivan and the Blade could do for him, perhaps he was mistaken despite the ceremonial blade the Leader of the Blade of Marmora had insisted he keep, and the insistence that there was _something here_ for him. Dumah did not require a healer. He needed ….

Well, he wasn’t entirely sure what he needed.

She moved toward him, further from the safety of Kolivan and the door and closer to a monster who couldn’t even control himself. He forced his body still, waiting.

“Kneel down for me,” Geeva said as she used her cane to move closer. “I may be one of the best, but I am still quite old. My joints don’t work as well as they used to.”

Dumah frowned but did as he was asked. Perhaps if she conducted her inspection, she would see for herself that this was a waste of both their times.

Her dry hands were light as they swept over the crown of his head, along the hollows of his cheeks, over his eyes. A flinch tore itself from his body when her fingers grazed over the thick scars that imprinted his skin in a horrible, permanent echo of the straps that had locked his cursed muzzle.

“You poor dear,” she said softly, but any pity or sympathy she felt was kept behind a professional calm that he greatly preferred. Kindness was still a new thing to him, and although it had been two phoebs since his escape, it still stung. Her professional distance was like a balm.

He heard her swallow hard, however, when she got to his throat.

“I have some quintessent ability as a healer,” she said, looking him in the eye. “May I use quintessence to see what has happened to your vocal cords?”

Dumah couldn’t help but stiffen. He never took well to quintessence from anyone, not even Princess Allura, and the thought of letting the energy of another in like that rubbed raw at the violent, unwilling usage of his own quintessence so recently.

But that professional manner of hers and the fact that she’d asked — something even Princess Allura hadn’t done in the beginning — along with the reality that he … he _needed_ something made the decision for him. He forced himself to relax, drawing a steady breath through his nose before he swallowed.

He gave her a small, tight nod.

“I understand that you have some trouble controlling your quintessence, on occasion,” she said, again so calmly. So professionally. “Kolivan told me.”

Dumah’s jaw clenched but he gave another tight nod. It was good that she knew. It meant she’d be aware in case he accidentally began to siphon off her lifeforce.

“If you feel like you’re about to lose control, pull away. I will stop immediately,” she said. He wanted to ask her what she would do if he couldn’t pull away. She seemed to already have anticipated it. “In the event I feel as if you’re losing control, I will pull away. Is that fair?”

This time it was easier to nod. That was fair. It was more than fair.

“Good. Now please hold still. This won’t hurt and I will move as quickly as I can.”

A moment passed and he blinked his understanding. Her hands began to glow a soft blue so much like Princess Allura’s quintessence that he couldn’t help but be soothed. Gently she placed her fingers at his throat, and he struggled to ignore the hairline fracture of panic that glowed brighter than everything else, begging him to pull away. Or take.

Dumah instead counted ticks in his head. Focused as hard as he could on that because if he didn’t then he didn’t know what he’d do.

“Quintessent scarring,” Geeva said quietly after she pulled her hands away. “I imagine she did this. The witch?”

Dumah’s hands involuntarily clenched. _Her_. The one who’d broken him.

“I thought so,” she replied and this time she touched him without quintessence, tilting his neck upward so she had a better view. “Thankfully, I believe I can repair it.”

His eyes widened, and this time she couldn’t keep her professional mask on. She smiled at him.

“Yes. I mean it. It’s a tricky procedure, especially when it’s quintessent scarring of this caliber. But I am considered to be quite gifted. I could do it now if you permit me.”

His hands were already moving, trying to communicate but of course she couldn’t understand a thing he signed. Dumah’s heart raced and the blood in his ears pounded so hard he wasn’t sure if he’d heard her correctly or not. If he’d just imagined it all.

But this Geeva waited patiently, and that steady look in her eyes assured him that this wasn’t a dream. She thought she could heal him. She would use quintessence, of course, and that made his stomach clench. But the touch of her quintessence was familiar now, and he’s sensed no ill-will from it.

At long last, he decided he was willing to try. At best, he would be able to speak again. At worse, she would betray him, and he would have no qualms with how he handled that situation.

Dumah lifted his neck, a vulnerable position, but it was this or remain how he was. This would be the next step he took toward changing that, to shedding the witch’s chains.

And he would shed her chains or die trying.

Geeva sucked in a quick but quiet breath as if surprised that this was really happening, and Dumah clenched his teeth. She’d offered to do this for him. Why was she reacting this way?

“It will take a little time, dear, and it might feel odd, but it will be painless. I promise you that.”

The procedure could have been filled with pain he had to endure, and he would not have cared. He would have endured. Anything to fix this. But there was no way to tell her that.

She laid him down on the bed before settling into a chair on the side of him. She told him to relax. He didn’t think he did a good job of it, but it was the best he could do, and soon her dry fingers rested gently over his neck. Quintessence radiated from her touch like warmth.

It was uncomfortable, she hadn’t lied about that, but he hardly cared about discomfort after everything he’d gone through. But while it wasn’t painful, it did take a while and he knew if he focused on the warmth gathered at his throat he’d be able to feel what she was doing. Distantly he could sense flesh knitting together in the same type of way he could heal himself. It was different though, purer. Stronger. His quintessence was powerful, and he could heal himself, that was true, but this was a level of subtle control he’d never been capable of.

With the procedure underway and Kolivan having left for the time being, he found that although there was silence all around him, he could not bring that silence into his mind. His thoughts kept drifting, over and over.

They always landed on Princess Allura, no matter what he did to try to stop them. She was light to him, and even this far away he was almost certain he could see her, at least in his mind.

Dumah just wished it wasn’t that look of restrained fear on her face, the last of her he’d seen, that kept flashing through his memory. He wanted to focus on the better times. Like the trip to the Balmera, instead of what happened there and after. That time when the others went to the space mall. Those precious moments when she had looked at him and hadn’t been a monster.

The warmth was pulling away, tugging Dumah out of his thoughts as it went, and he arched a brow when Geeva sat back. He sat up and didn’t feel any different. Curiously he slipped his palm down the column of his throat. Everything felt the same.

“It’s done,” the healer said, wilting a little, but still strong enough to give him a small smile. “I’ve fixed the damage.”

Had she? A quick prodding with his own quintessence showed that, yes, there was a difference. His vocal cords were in a different alignment than they’d ever been in his memory, perhaps fixed, but he’d never studied the proper alignment of vocal cords to know.

Dumah opened his mouth, expecting a sound, but nothing came out.

“They vibrate around air,” she explained. “It’s okay if you can’t use them yet. It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to speak, hasn’t it?”

Frustration nagged at him because she’d said he was fixed. He should be able to speak. To make a sound now, any sound he wanted! But he felt the same as before. Mute and still the monster the witch had made of him.

He looked to the Galran healer, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her face was pulled in thought.

“Do you remember ever speaking?”

Dumah shook his head.

“So you don’t have any idea what speaking feels like?”

His lips pressed thin. No. He did not.

Geeva hummed and Dumah resisted the urge to sigh. He couldn’t even do that.

“If you’ve been silenced so long you’ve forgotten how to speak, we need to find a way to help you use your voice. Usually infants come screaming into the world. Sound and speech are often quite primal. But I imagine you have a lot of control as it is. Simpler ways of making sound likely won’t work.”

Dumah wasn’t sure what she was getting at. He was no infant. He did not scream. Even when he was injured or in pain, his jaws always locked down tight.

Her old eyes lifted to his consideringly before she called Kolivan, who returned several doboshes later.

“The procedure was a success,” she said. “The next phase is for him to make sound. I wonder. Dear, do you think you can spar without using your abilities? Even if you are pressed?”

Dumah’s eyes widened. The conversation had taken a quick turn he hadn’t anticipated. Still, he nodded. Except with the witch and the Balmera, he’d always been in control of his abilities. But why should they spar?

Kolivan, however, appeared to understand.

“Do you think it will work?”

“Perhaps,” Geeva allowed before she answered Dumah’s silent question. “My thought is that if you’re pushed in battle, you might figure out how to make sounds. Struggle often pulls such things out of us, and while it might never have done so for you in the past, your voice was never able to transmit the sound anyway. Now you might be able to when stressed.”

Admittedly he was dubious, but he was willing to try anything if it meant he could make his voice work. Kolivan at least appeared confident about the idea and soon he, Kolivan, and Geeva were in a wide training room. Their Blade swords were in hand and Geeva sat to the side, watching. Dumah gave an experimental swing of his ceremonial sword, still a strange thing in his palm but Kolivan had insisted.

The Blade did not ask if he was ready, only launched into attack, and for the first time since the battle with Zarkon, Dumah felt a flicker of normalcy. He was made to fight, and even with a sword instead of quintessence, he felt sharper than he had been in days.

Training with Keith had improved his technique considerably and he was pleased to hold his own against Kolivan for as long as he did. But the simple fact was that two phoebs of training could not account for the deca-phoebs the leader of the Blade had of experience, and it wasn’t long until the limits of his abilities were reached. Bruises lined his body where he’d been foolish, and several small cuts edged him where he’d lost his focus. Kolivan kept pressing, however, and Dumah let him.

If this would somehow help him, then he’d do this until he dropped.

It wasn’t long before his endurance was about to fail him before his spirit did. His time recovering with Voltron had helped, but he wasn’t strong in a physical way, not yet. Stronger yes, but he and Kolivan had been sparring for some time now and although the Blade appeared unwinded, Dumah was quietly snatching at his quintessence reserves to keep his body strong. To make up for the gap that was growing.

And he hated his dependence.

That was what pushed him, more than the fighting did. The dependence. His need to use quintessence when he was in a bind. Those were the skills the witch had forced him to master. They were what had kept him alive. His relationship with his own abilities was so twisted and convoluted that although he appreciated what they could do for him, he _hated_ that he felt the need to use them now. How much, with so much latent energy he’d received after what had happened against the witch, he _wanted_ to use it. To transport himself across the room. To shock and bind his opponent into submission. To defeat with his favored weapon.

The fight he shared with Kolivan outside is mind was nothing compared to the one he fought within. And he had to fight it harder and harder the more ferociously and unrelentingly Kolivan came at him. Soon enough he was gritting his teeth, back covered in sweat, nose burning from the need to breathe and still he hadn’t made a sound. He was starting to wonder if Geeva knew what she was doing. If this was all some elaborate waste of time.

Then, to his surprise. Five blades appeared from openings on the floor and as a unit they rushed him.

The change had been so unexpected, so sudden that it destroyed his thoughts and left him reacting instinctively, his body pressed harder than ever with six opponents instead of one. They were everywhere, never letting him catch a breath, constantly forcing him off balance, pushing, pushing, pushing.

He turned and saw a blade arching down toward his face. There was no way to dodge, he couldn’t defend after having already used his blade to parry two others. It was coming fast and at that speed, if it didn’t kill him, he’d be badly injured. He wasn’t sure he had the energy to heal if he was that badly injured. He wouldn’t be able to break the chains Haggar had placed on him. He would not be able to one day help Princess Allura take back the Universe.

He would not find out who he was.

That thought distilled him. The fog of his mind didn’t lift, but something within it settled, like a hidden mountain refusing to move.

He didn’t think. Without hesitating Dumah twisted space, leaving the core of the fight for an advantageous one. His hands sparked with purple lightning as he bared his teeth, daring them to try again, to try to take what little was left from him.

The audible snarl that ripped out of him was so surprising that everything stopped.

Dumah froze. Kolivan’s eyes widened, but he and all of his Blades jumped back immediately, a safe distance but swords still raised. The area was still tense. If any of the Blades moved again, Dumah would attack, but it wasn’t a Blade that moved. From the side, Geeva had shot to her old feet.

“That’s it,” she said, already hobbling closer without fear, her cane tapping loudly and excitement on her face. “That’s what it feels like, dear. That vibration in your throat. That’s how you make sound.”

Dumah’s thoughts blanked again, but this time the red haze of battle fell away and he forgot about the match entirely. With his chest heaving hard, he turned away from everything because she was right. That was a sound, a sound _he’d made_. He could still feel it in his throat like a phantom. A rough vibration. Dumah thought about what it had taken to make that first, brilliant sound. It had been a rush, something he hadn’t even thought about, it had just happened.

He tried again.

The first time nothing happened. Air escaped his mouth more quickly than usual, but that was nothing new. He tried a second time and thought he felt the beginnings of that strange sensation before it faded like a memory.

The third time, a weak, “Ha,” came out, and he was so startled by it that he stepped back. But he’d made the sound again, small as it was. He’d done it again, and amazed, he made the sound once more, an impossible, proud smile crawling across his face. “Ha!”

It echoed around them, strong and real, and although it made his throat ache with new use, he’d _done it_. Geeva had fixed him like she’d promised she had.

He could speak.

Dumah spun around, intent on telling them something, _anything_ , it wouldn’t matter, but when he faced Geeva and Kolivan — the other Blades having been dismissed — both eager to see what he might say, he realized with a start that he didn’t … he didn’t know _how_ to say what he wanted to say. The ability was in his grasp now, but how to do it, how he was supposed to use this new voice of his? That was a mystery. Language wasn’t composed purely of the sound ‘ha’ and that was all he knew right now, and he’d found it completely by accident.

Geeva seemed to understand when his face fell, and she gave him a small smile.

“This is a good step. Don’t worry. You’ll be speaking soon, it’ll just take more time and a great deal of practice. But I will help you. You will be able to do this, I promise—”

He appreciated her vote of confidence and the fact that she had a patient plan, but his thoughts had snagged when she’d said the word practice.

Practice. Of course.

“Dear?” Geeva said, noticing his distraction.

“What are you doing—?” Kolivan asked, but the Blade’s words cut off.

Dumah twisted space.

The Blade’s hanger manifested around him, and he leaped into one of the fighters. A Blade appeared, but he’d already closed the hatch and launched before anyone could stop him. Kolivan’s voice swelled out of the speaker, demanding he turn around and come back. The black holes or the blue giant would kill him.

Dumah didn’t go far, he’d never intended to. He hung above the base, well away from the edge of the red zone. He typed a response to Kolivan, letting him know that he wouldn’t be moving from this spot and that he’d return soon.

He knew the leader of the Blade wouldn’t like this, but Dumah found he didn’t care. More than anything, he wanted to learn how to speak, and that meant he had to practice how to do it, just like he had when he was learning how to eat and what his stomach could handle. This would be the same, except noisier.

Hopefully, at least, it would go faster.

For the better part of two vargas, Dumah practiced making sounds. For a long time, the best he could do was the ‘ha’ sound, over and over, and while a success, he needed to figure out how to make word sounds. He found that by molding his lips and controlling his tongue, things changed. He discovered that moving the vibration in his throat around controlled pitch and tone. Soon he was making sounds to make them, exploring range, strengthening his throat, finding the sounds that sounded best.

His throat couldn’t take it for long stretches, so he forced himself to rest. To drink water as he’d seen others do because the action was leaving his mouth and throat dry. But soon he was stringing sounds together, sounds that sounded like words. And while they were bastardized things, rough and barely understandable, they were _real_.

But soon his newfound voice had reached its limit, and although he wanted to keep going, to perfect it and truly speak, the last thing he wanted was to accidentally break it when it was still so very new.

It was strong enough for one more thing, though, and confident that he could do it, he guided the fighter back into the hanger. Geeva and Kolivan were waiting for him when he landed. Kolivan looked tense, but Geeva stared at him, waiting. It was like she knew already why he’d done what he’d done.

He stood before her and took a breath. Quietly he prayed all his effort wouldn’t be in vain, and he’d be able to do this one thing.

“Thank you.”

The words were whisper-thin, weak and rough and threatened to break, but they were words. They made sense. They were communication, the first _real_ verbal communication he’d ever made.

He did not understand why her eyes moistened the way they did, but the smile she gave him was brilliant. For the first time, the smallest smile tugged at the edge of Kolivan’s lips. Geeva reached for Dumah’s hands, and although the gesture was outside of his range of comfort, she had restored his voice. She had figured out how to help him reach it, and then had understood what he’d needed to do to get even a touch of it back. He let her take his hands, and her warm fingers squeezed his tenderly.

“You’re most welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, look at that. Our boy can speak again! It's exciting stuff, but the next chapter is going to be a doozy and definitely something I hope you'll be excited about because *a lot's* going to happen. 
> 
> Till Monday!


	14. The Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are with a pretty long chapter where A LOT happens. I hope you'll enjoy :]
> 
> TWs: suicidal ideation

Two quintants later, he and Geeva were traveling through space. He wasn’t comfortable, but he was coming to terms with the fact that he might never be comfortable. This was the next phase of Geeva’s plan to help him. To heal him. He’d thought the extent she would help him heal would only be fixing his vocal cords and teaching him to speak again. He hadn’t thought there was more she could do.

She thought otherwise.

“Oh no, dear,” she said when she came to tell him. “That was only the first step.”

“What else?” he’d asked. His voice was still so rough, the words were almost unrecognizable, but they were real words and he was proud of them. He’d practiced relentlessly and each collection of organized sound was a victory.

“I was under the impression you wanted your memories back,” she replied calmly. “Also you’re emaciated, your quintessence is corrupted, and the witch has broken your mind. I didn’t come here only to heal your voice, dear. I came to do everything in my ability to help heal _you_.”

Dumah stared at her, confused. “Why?”

A soft smile curled over her features, kind and weathered. “I’ll tell you once you’re healed.”

He didn’t like the answer, but there wasn’t much he could do about it to make her tell him. She was resolute, and she’d healed him so far. He respected her for that. If Geeva said she could help him more than she already had, he was inclined to believe her.

He just wasn’t as sure about it when they’d boarded a rather large Blade ship filled to the brim with supplies enough, he thought, to last deca-phoebs. He’d eyed Kolivan, and when the Blade hadn’t said anything, he’d turned his eyes to Geeva.

“This is a trip you and I will take. Kolivan and the others will meet us later.”

“And the … supplies?”

“Oh, don’t you worry, dear,” she said as she gently tapped his hand. “We’ll use them.”

That did nothing but heighten his curiosity and he wasn’t sure if he was placated by it or not.

When he saw where they were headed, he definitely _was not_.

“The quantum abyss?” The words almost weren’t words at all. ‘Cue’ sounds were some of the more difficult sounds for him to make. But she got the point. It was all over the screen right now, bright with red flashing warnings. The old Galran healer was steady as ever as she directed him closer. “It will kill us.”

She arched a brow. “Have you ever been to the quantum abyss?”

His eyes narrowed and that was answer enough. But now that he was learning to speak, she refused to communicate unless it was verbal, so he kept practicing. A useful and practical practice, but it was also … irritating.

Finally he said, “No.”

“Then how do you know it is dangerous?”

The monitor was going mad with the insistence that they were about to meet their end if they did not veer from their current trajectory, so there was that. There was also a tight, gut-wrenching certainty that this place was beyond dangerous.

But also … he didn’t know how to describe it. This place was dangerous certainly, but it was more than that. He’d felt it the moment he’d seen the incredible nebulas before him. The fog in his mind had shifted like a quick gale had passed through to dislodge a persistent, incomprehensible sensation. He wished it had given him more. He wished it would lift entirely, now that it was slowly starting to give way.

“Trust me, dear,” Geeva insisted. “Do you want to heal, or don’t you?”

“I do,” he sighed. That was the bottom line. He would do whatever it took to heal.

“Then this is the way.” She smiled to herself, then added, “This is The Way.”

“The Way?” He glanced at her. “What does that mean? Will you tell me what we’re doing now that we’re here?”

“The Way is a path, dear, through the quantum abyss. There are several ways through, even one which would take us where we are going most expediently. But that is not the path we’re taking. We will take The Way.”

Dumah frowned. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out,” she promised. He was quickly learning she made a lot of promises. “What’s important right now is the journey there. That is where the healing will take place.”

Journey? He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. His frown deepened. “I still don’t understand.”

“This is the quantum abyss,” she explained. “The laws of time and physics are different within it. Most of the abyss will kill us, but the paths that exist are always different and changing. Time on one path will differ from another, and they will all be different from what the rest of the universe outside the abyss experiences. A quintant here could be a phoeb within, and it all depends on the path chosen. It is the nature of The Way.”

Now he stared, piecing together her strange explanation. “This … Way. How long will it take?”

“It will depend.”

“On?”

“Which of those,” she replied, pointing to some shapes before them. “That you choose.”

Dumah wasn’t sure what _those_ were. They looked like massive creatures swimming through space toward the abyss.

“What do you mean, choose?”

“What we will do, dear, is ride one of those through the quantum abyss toward our destination, and we will ride it for as long as it takes to get there.” She nodded toward them. “These creatures can make their ways safely through. No one will bother us. We will be undisturbed as long as we are on The Way. It is there that you will heal. The Way, dear, will give you time.”

This sounded ridiculous to him. Riding these creatures into certain death and calling it healing seemed absurd, but she fully believed it. He wondered for a moment if she was insane. He thought _he_ was insane for listening because he piloted closer. There were three of these massive beasts.

“Which one?”

“Whichever you feel is right.”

Again, another ridiculous response, but he found himself drawn to the one on the left. It was practically identical to the other two, there was nothing which seemed better or worse. He just felt drawn to the one on the left, and after following her instructions, he carefully landed on its massive, planetoid back in the middle of a large clearing. It looked like its own world once they were on the ‘ground’, and although Geeva assured him that the air would be breathable, he believed it only when the sensor said as much.

They deboarded, and if he hadn’t just flown here, he’d have wondered if they were on the back of a creature at all, and not some incredible, untouched place. The quantum abyss flanked them on all sides and his heart raced when the creature sailed right into it. From this point on there would be no going back. Only forward, or death.

It left him oddly quiet, and he worked in silence as he made a simple campsite for them. There was a stream nearby, and after some exploring, he found some edible roots that they wouldn’t need for some time, given how stocked they were with food. He made a campfire, and when darkness settled around them, they sat around it, eating without a word.

It was only after he’d taken their dishes and cleaned them before settling again in front of the fire that he asked the question that had been on his mind since he’d made his choice and entered the quantum abyss.

“How long?” he asked with his poor voice. Geeva smiled as she sat on a chair she’d packed and watched the quantum abyss all around them.

“As long as it takes,” she replied. “You chose The Way. All we can do now is make the most of the time you’ve chosen.”

“I … don’t understand,” he sighed. The light here was beautiful and ethereal. The stuff of dreams. It was hard to believe that if he journeyed too far from this creature, he would fall off the path and into the abyss where he would die.

“As I said earlier, time will move differently for us than it will for everyone outside the abyss. Sometimes it’s less, but most times when individuals enter The Way, they experience much more time than the rest of the universe does. We could be here for deca-phoebs, while outside only a movement has passed. It’s different for everyone.”

His brow furrowed. “But … how long?”

Her smile turned tender and gentle.

“We’ll find out at the end.” Geeva gestured toward the beautiful lights on the horizon, the direction the creature they were riding was headed. “There is only forward because we cannot go back. The Way is about healing. _You_ chose the path. This is about you. And while we’re here, my dear, we must make the most of it because once The Way closes and we have found the end …” she sighed. “I suspect there will be little time for anything except battle.”

The reality of the situation swept away conversation and Dumah stared into the fire. If what Geeva said was right, if The Way was what she said it was, then the time here would be a blessing, so long as he used it to heal as she said. And he would need it because afterward? She was right. The rest of the universe would be waiting. He needed to be as strong as he could be. To help everyone. To help Princess Allura.

Darkness fell on their strange new home, and Dumah wondered if this would work.

* * *

The first few quintants, Dumah did not know what to do, let alone what to think, and all Geeva would advise was strange and peculiar.

“Do as you like.”

“I thought I … would get better,” he said. “Remember who I am. Heal already.”

“In time, dear. Healing takes time,” she replied simply. “These are early days, but trust me when I say the memories _will_ come. That is the nature of this place and The Way. Until then, I think it best that what you practice be what _you_ desire. Understand what you want.”

“But I want nothing,” he replied, confused. “Except to know myself.”

She chuckled at him. “Then go find out.”

The first few movements had been irritating because he had yet to learn anything about himself, and he’d told Geeva as much.

“Is that true, dear, or are you simply impatient?” The old woman was stirring a pot of stew and lifted her eyes to arch a brow. “I’m sure you’ve learned something by now. Tell me about your days.”

“They are the same. They are always the same,” he replied, his voice stronger now that he used it more. “What am I waiting for?”

She smiled at him. “While here on The Way, we will experience what are known as time flashes. Your memories will be recovered by the abyss, the ones you remember and the ones you do not. By the end of The Way, we will both know your past, and hopefully you can learn to integrate what is in your past with who you are now, and who you hope to become. These flashes, they are what we are waiting for. In the meantime, work on yourself. Train. Speak. Read. _Heal_. If anyone has deserved this time to do so, dear, you have.”

He wasn’t so sure, but with little else to do he took her advice. Every day he would practice with his sword. Read history from the massive library stored on the ship’s drive. He would explore their new home, practice Blade combat scenarios he found on the computer, and his speech was getting better the more he spoke.

She was two hundred and three deca-phoebs old and expected to live for another hundred fifty or so more. She’d spent much of the life she’d lived already healing those who needed healing and serving the Blade almost as long.

“But you,” she said playfully, “are both my greatest and most challenging patient.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, Geeva,” he told her. She only smiled.

“I think you’ll understand at the end.”

He hoped that would be the case, but he was growing more certain he’d let her down. He hadn’t done much of anything, let alone healing, since he got here. He felt like he was wasting his time, and yet that was what she insisted he do.

Dumah didn’t know what to say. But then again, she was the doctor. There was little else he could do besides trust her.

It was four phoebs before his first time flash, and seeing it took his breath away and left his chest filled with ice.

For a moment, he lost all sense of self as a memory yanked free from the fog. It played before his mind’s eye as if he were both reliving it and watching it at the same time.

He saw the High Priestess and he saw himself. A younger him, muscular and defined, one without all the horrible scars he carried now. One who glared with fire and defiance.

_“You truly are a contrary creature,” Haggar said as she stood over his naked, beaten body. “Favoring your Altean heritage. Weak when you are so physically strong.” She gazed at him curiously before coming to a decision. “Perhaps, as with your abilities, the approach to use with your strength should also be inverted.”_

_Her hand lifted, glowing, and quintessence glowed around his throat, lifting him in time with the rise of her fingers._

_“If you are weak when you are physically strong, perhaps you will be strong in quintessence when physically weak.”_

The memory lifted, but as it did a flood of other memories just as horrifying replaced that first one, each progressively worse as he watched his body loose definition and become skeletal. Saw the haggard creature he’d become as his throat was scarred, his lips sewn shut, that cursed muzzle strapped on and every action he made punished until all that was left was a powerful, horrible wraith. He watched as the fire in his eyes dulled to embers and then lower than that.

Dumah watched himself become a slave. And then lower than that.

The time flash left him as abruptly as it hit him, and Dumah stumbled back against the ship so hard he slammed his head into it. Nausea rolled through his stomach, sour and sudden, and he hunched over quickly to expel the breakfast he’d just consumed.

Soft footsteps found him as he was wiping spittle from his mouth, and the tight look in her eyes had been all he needed to know that she’d witnessed his slavery and degradation.

“Dear—”

Dumah twisted space and was on the other side of the creature a moment later. He stood on top of a ridge, the tail of the beast they rode shifting ever so slightly as it eased through space, swimming onward without a care.

His scream burst out of him with nothing but the low growing shrubs to hear it. It echoed away into nothingness, and just because he could, he screamed again and again because what else was there to do? What _could_ he do? Those things, they had happened. Every way he’d been broken down into the monster he’d been made into had been laid bare, and what was worse was that he remembered at least some of it, the newer memories. The older ones he hadn’t remembered, those had been like watching someone else, but the ones he could remember? He had an outside perspective of the creature he’d been, and he detested what he’d seen. Dead-eyed. Corpse-like. Powerful weapon trained to do exactly what the High Priestess wanted.

_Monster._

And Geeva had seen that.

Lightning arched out of him as he tried to exhume the horror out, the past fresh in his mind, but all it did was cause a small fire and make him feel endlessly tired. He ignored it. Instead he took a large branch nearby which had fallen from a tree he’d struck with lightning, twisted space higher, and then threw it into the abyss.

The next instant it was gone.

Dumah watched the branch crumple into oblivion on the event horizon, brutally, violently, without mercy. He decided that, if he could not do this, if he could not come to terms with his memories, his past, and everything that had happened to him, at least he had an exit strategy.

* * *

It was quintants before he returned to camp to face Geeva, and he did it fully expecting pity, horror, outrage and discomfort. After all, what they’d seen had been horrendous.

He got none of that.

When he walked into their campsite, he found her sitting in a chair, reading in the gentle abyss light. There was another seat beside her, and when he made noise enough to announce himself, she calmly looked up, lowering her reading tablet and regarded him.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

No, he would not. He didn’t think he’d ever be ready to talk about it, and he suspected that if he twisted space again and left, she would let him go. But he also had no doubt she’d still be sitting here when he came back, waiting with the same question she’d just asked him.

Dumah suspected she would do this without fail, and so he sat down, took a breath, and talked.

He found there was much he wanted to talk about, now that there was someone willing to listen. Someone who offered no judgment.

This therapy, as she called it, was not easy for him. There were days when he felt as if he could speak for vargas, speak until his voice gave out and he couldn’t say another word no matter how hard he tried to make his weak voice work. Then there were days when he could barely tease out a sentence. When that tension in his chest would rise so tightly that he was shaking with emotions he could hardly contain, and he’d leave. Sometimes for vargas. Other times for quintants. Movements.

Every time he did that, he’d return and she would be there, calm, steady, and ready to help him sift through his memories in the safest way possible.

It took time, but eventually he found the fog in his mind beginning to thin bit by bit, receding as he slowly worked on himself. There was still a great expanse of darkness there, so much territory left to reclaim but this healing she and The Way were giving him … he was changing. There was no doubt about that.

It took him nine deca-phoebs to realize that he felt better. Or at least, a little better.

Those time flashes were not the only ones they experienced, nor was it the full extent of his trauma. Just when he felt like he’d come to terms with one set of memories, The Way would open another set just as painful, just as brutal, some known and unknown, and the process of opening up and decompressing them would begin all over again.

But the more he did it, the easier it was becoming to talk about his traumas with her. To trust that she would not attack him with all of this terrible knowledge and continue to speak calmly with him. Teach him how to address and handle stints of anxiety and depression, of angers and rages and night terrors that sometimes felt more real than the world around him was.

“I can’t stand this,” he admitted to her one evening after several nights of insomnia. Unpacking his recent set of memories had resulted in terrorized thoughts which would not subside. “How is this healing?”

She held his hand in his and weathered through it with him.

In time the terrors ebbed, though the nightmares rarely left him alone. The tightness in his chest began to lessen, his thoughts calmed, aided by the peaceful world around them, the beautiful and unchanging abyss, and Geeva’s unrelenting patience.

* * *

It was a rainy day, forty-two deca-phoebs into The Way, coincidentally the day he realized that perhaps there was no one in the entire universe he trusted more than Geeva with her steady wisdom, quick wit, and ever ready kindness that the nature of his time flashes suddenly changed.

Without mercy, they revealed every life he’d ever taken.

They’d been sitting together, watching the rain and playing a strategy game on the projector when the flood began, and the horror at the change in flash-type left him frozen. He saw slaves whose life forces he’d stolen. Galra he’d killed. Assassins he’d murdered. Druid’s he’d taken pleasure in ending. Aliens he could not name.

A little girl with pink eyes dying on the ground under him, begging for mercy.

It kept going, on and on and on, and unable to stop himself, he counted. It was all he could do. See a face fall, a flicker of blood, the deadening of eyes, each was another number and they crept upward toward a count he had lodged in the core of his heart.

When the flash finally, _finally_ ended, he found himself on the ground, tears falling from his eyes. A broken whine pulled out of him. He could still see so many faces. These flashes had reclaimed so much ground in his mind, the fog pushed back further than it had been.

But it had revealed so much he’d forgotten. So much, maybe, that he’d even wanted to forget. He’d thought the trauma of slavery was the worst that had happened, but no. It had only primed him for this new level of hell.

One Geeva, his only friend, had seen as well.

Devastated, he shoved himself up and forced himself to look at her. His trauma may not have driven her off, but _surely_ this must have. Surely _this much death_ could not be accepted. Could not be forgiven, even by someone as kind as her.

Dry hands wrapped firmly around his. He was so startled by their presence that his thoughts dissolved as he looked at the old healer. He saw no rage. No anger. No condemnation.

He saw so much pain in her watery eyes.

“My poor dear,” Geeva said softly, her voice wobbling as tears rolled down her cheeks. She held his hands, unwilling to let him go. “Your Number. It’s 220,098.”

Dumah shattered. He’d never heard his Number spoken out loud. He’d never thought another soul in all of existence would ever say it. Would ever know.

But he heard it now. It had been said by someone other than him. And it struck Dumah that it was so high a number. A damnable number. A number gathered over thousands of deca-phoebs. A number he knew now had weighed so heavily on his heart.

Dumah knelt before Geeva, clung to her hands which were good and kind and still held a monster like him, and sobbed.

When he left this time out of so much guilt and shame, it was for an entire deca-phoeb. He thought about the event horizon. He thought about his exit strategy.

But when he returned, Geeva, his kind Geeva, was waiting for him in her chair like she always was. And when he tentatively sat down, she only gave him that gentle smile that broke his heart and asked if he was ready to talk about it.

He wasn’t. Again, he never thought he would be, but he talked about it anyway. Talked about what he’d done. How it had made him feel. Why he’d done it. How he felt about it all now.

“It’s unforgivable, what I’ve done,” he said. “How can you stand a monster like me, Geeva?”

“You’ll understand, once The Way is over. I promise.”

He didn’t think he would ever understand how someone so kind and so good could possibly do what she was doing for him. He did not deserve to heal. He did not deserve _this_.

But Geeva, as always, refused to give up. And for her, if only for her, he kept trying.

* * *

It was a calm, peaceful night with the abyss beautiful and serene around them when the time flashes changed once more and destroyed everything a third time.

He’d been preparing to sleep, the last of the tea they shared cold in their mugs as they enjoyed the fire after a long day. He’d spent it training with his blade, practicing forms, refining movements, then fighting simulations until it was time to help Geeva with chores. Over the deca-phoebs they’d spent together, weathering his memories as they came with steadfast determination, they’d grown close and he couldn’t remember loving anyone as tenderly as he did Geeva. The Galran healer had been with him every step of the way, weathering the deca-phoebs with patience and a devotion to him and his growth that he still did not understand.

“You’ll understand once The Way—,”

“Ends,” he finished with a knowing sigh, a small smile tugging at his lips.

She smiled proudly.

The deca-phoebs were catching up to her. She’d been up in age when they’d first arrived, but back then she’d been able to walk on her own with the support of her cane. Now she preferred to stay seated in a chair, only leaving it occasionally whenever she needed to. She still walked though, just slower and he did most of the chores and work, which was fine with him. Every morning and every evening they had a session about whatever he felt he needed to work through. Frustration. A new memory. Concerns. What he wanted to do once The Way opened up again.

“Do you think it will be soon?” he asked. He couldn’t help the edge of hope that clung to his words. It wasn’t only because he wanted to leave sometimes. It was more that he felt better. Like he was growing. Like this was working. That he was healing. It had been almost seventy-eight deca-phoebs now. _Surely_ sometime soon?

“The Way will take as long as it will,” she replied her usual reply, and it was familiar and soothing. “Trust it.”

Lately he’d felt like so many of his concerns and frustrations were fading. He’d come to better terms with his Number and the trauma that had broken him for so long. He was stronger, mentally, physically, emotionally. He had grown, there was no doubting that, and he wondered what would happen when there was nothing left to uncover.

He hadn’t realized the worst had yet to reveal itself until, just as he was placing a dish into the cupboard, a time flash happened.

He froze, but he always froze. That was just how it was. He rode it out along with Geeva, sharing in his experiences and lost memories. The fog shifted. Lifted. More ground was uncovered, he almost craved it now. What more was there that could break him?

He remembered for the first time in five thousand deca-phoebs, that he was the son of Zarkon.

Memories flashed through his mind like razors he had no defense for. Him as a child, a lonely child desperate to please his father, then desperate to understand why his father hated him so much. Desperate to find out if there was another place better for him, another people better for him. He remembered growing up in the strict, confining, brutal culture of the Galra, working harder than anyone, striving to become more, become better than his father. Searching for whatever chance there was that the future might pave the way for him. For a better Empire.

He remembered failing, again and again. He remembered never being enough. He remembered bearing witness to atrocities, unable to do a thing as the creature that was his father took and destroyed without mercy.

He remembered his father ordering his death, only to give him to Haggar to do with as she wished.

Dumah remembered his real name.

A shout tore out of his throat, horrified, pained, wretched because _this_. This was the worst. This had been what he’d been trying so hard to remember. This version of him was who he’d wanted to become again. A failed, broken prince. The son of a _monster._

The cool air of outside made his heated cheeks sting. He’d twisted reality and Geeva was already on her old feet, hand gripped around the knob of her cane. Her eyes were tight and pained. She knew. She’d seen.

His heart broke in his chest.

“I’m the son of Zarkon,” he whispered, his shoulders hunched and shaking. He couldn’t even look at his only friend, not knowing what he’d done. Whose blood ran through his veins. “Geeva, I’m a monster.”

“You are not,” she said quietly, though iron filled the core of her words. “You are _not_.”

“You’ve seen what I’ve done,” he said. “You know my Number. You know what the witch turned me into and made me do! How can you say I’m not a monster?” He jerked his head up and glowered through the tears distorting his sight. “I have done terrible things. Committed atrocities.”

“Do you remember?” Geeva demanded, her quiet anger startling. It was the first time he’d ever seen it and it took him aback. “Do you remember everything?”

“No, but what more is there to remember?” he replied. Rage filled his chest. “You knew, didn’t you? You all knew!”

“Yes,” she said, face hard but she looked him in the eye. “We’ve known who you were since Kolivan gave you your ceremonial blade. You are Prince—”

“Don’t say it!” he snapped, rising to his feet. “I’m no prince. I’m not who you think I am. I’ve my father’s blood within me. I’ve been made the weapon of Haggar! What could I possibly be other than a monster?”

“You are so much more than that.” Geeva was shaking now. The tightness in her face looked less like determined anger and more like fear. “Please, dear, The Way isn’t done yet. There’s still so much you don’t know. It’s true you are Zarkon’s son, and it’s true we all knew. But you must understand! If you were the monster you believe, why are we here? Why are you so tortured? Why—?”

But he couldn’t hear her, not with all his thoughts and so many new memories slamming into him without mercy. He remembered so much now, about growing up in the Empire, about what his father had done, what had been expected of him. It melded with everything Haggar had done to him and he could not see how his desire to help rid the universe of the evil that was the Galra Empire — his _father —_ could possibly be enough.

Quintessence sparked around him, shocking him, lashing out, and he hated it. Hated himself for not being able to control it, but wasn’t that right? Unable to fight his father, unable to control his power, a beast who couldn’t do a thing except destroy and kill.

“My dear, _please_ ,” Geeva said, her voice sharp as she weathered through his quintessence by using her own as a shield. A weathered hand rested on his arm, and his heart broke because this good woman, she was trying to help him when he did not _deserve_ it. He did not deserve kindness or compassion. _Not him_.

“This was a mistake,” he whispered. “We were wrong. We were all wrong. Healing me, all of this, this won’t help a thing. Not you, not me, not Princess Allura or the Blade of Marmora or the Universe. We are essentially trying to fix a bomb that will one day destroy everything—”

“You don’t know that—”

“But I do!” he cried. “Because it’s _all_ I do. Destroy. Kill. Spread evil, even unwillingly, but it _is_ what I do. My quintessence is tainted, I don’t trust myself when all it takes is a command to kill and I lose control. Geeva, I’m poison.”

Her voice was harder than he’d ever heard it in his life. “You are _not_.”

He shook his head because how could she not see what he could so clearly now? Why wouldn’t she agree with him?

Why?

But now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. The thought had always been there in the back of his mind, ever since he saw what might happen if they drifted too far from the creature. Now that he knew this, he couldn’t keep the thought down in the darkness of his mind and heart anymore. It rose and it hurt, but he couldn’t help it. It was true.

“Geeva, what if it’s better … if I don’t come out of The Way at all?”

The color in her face paled. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “You know what I mean. It wouldn’t be your fault, you’ve done so much for me, and I love you for it. But … what if it’s better?” He couldn’t stop the thought now from spiraling in his head. “What if … what if I just didn’t come back? No one else would get hurt. I couldn’t be used as a tool anymore. I would just … I would no longer be in the equation.”

Her jaw clenched and her eyes misted but she told him with all the bravery he’d come to expect from her. “ _No._ ”

“But what if it’s better that way?” he said, voice broken and soul hollow. “What if everything is better if I … leaped into the abyss?”

The silence that settled between them had never been this cold, not once in the many deca-phoebs they’d shared together. He’d always thought that Geeva knowing about the torture he’d endured, or his Number, would be the worst of it. Deep down, he’d hoped because they were atrocious things and she had been there. She had never judged him, only helped him understand what he’d gone through and find ways to help him work through the pain. Become stronger than he was.

But this … this was worse. He could not conceive of anything worse than this. The son of a tyrant. The weapon of a vile witch. He was despicable and he should not … he should not be alive. It had been ten thousand deca-phoebs and he was still causing so much pain and suffering to the universe, _so much_. How could he possibly atone any other way than to simply remove himself? Help the Blade? Help Voltron and Princess Allura? What good would that do? What good could that _possibly_ do? Geeva, she _had_ to see that. She had to know, she _had_ to understand just like she always did.

A look at her and he knew that she did not. That she would _never_ agree with this, not for as long as she was alive. There was a line she could not cross and he was at the edge of it. But she would not help him with this. She would never rationalize or agree to his thoughts of suicide.

It made something within him crack.

“Geeva,” he whispered, and even in his ears, he knew what it sounded like. A plea. A beg. This was how far he was willing to go, to beg for her to understand and agree. To tell him that for once _he was right_. That this was what he deserved.

Geeva didn’t look at him, but she didn’t deny him either.

“I won’t stop you, if that is what you feel you must do. But you don’t know everything. Not yet. And the things you don’t know?” Her voice wobbled, and she had to steady herself before she continued. “Perhaps the things you do not yet know mean more than the blood in your veins and the deeds you have done. Maybe,” she said so softly it was almost a whisper, “they mean everything.”

With that, she hobbled away and into the ship, leaving him alone with the fire and his thoughts and the unending silence, and he wondered if there really was more he didn’t know. He wondered if he was strong enough to find out. And most of all, he wondered if the universe would truly be better without the son of Zarkon still living in it.

* * *

The deca-phoebs continued to pass and as they did more and more memories revealed themselves from the great fog of his mind, and he bore their return with as much patience and compassion as he could muster. It was a feat, given that so much of what he remembered now was more suffering. More pain. A great drive to make the universe better. A need to protect others in a way he had never been protected. His time as the witch’s slave had only proved how important such a mission was. Every quiet day in The Way reaffirmed a conviction he only now realized he’d been sheltering and protecting since the day he’d been captured.

He was stronger now, faster, more articulate with all the time in the world needed to practice. His mind was sharper as he filled the fog with knowledge, anything he could possibly learn from Geeva’s database or from Geeva herself. The old woman was a rock of support for him, stern but endlessly kind and never cruel. On his worst days, she never gave up on him or ridiculed him. On his weakest, she filled him with strength. His quintessence was still wildly tainted, and she’d been upfront that such taint might take a very long time to lose, if it could be cleansed at all. The news made him ache terribly, but she encouraged him never to give up hope.

When he wasn’t training or studying or quietly coming to terms with everything that had happened to him, he thought of Princess Allura and her Paladins. It had been a very long time for him, and he always wondered how long it was for her. How she and Voltron were getting along. If by the power of her strength, ambition, and kindness that she’d already liberated the universe from Zarkon’s clutches. More than anything, he hoped so, and he believed that if anyone could do it, she certainly could. He wanted her to, even if it meant he could not help her.

But no matter how much progress he made, how much stronger he became and the depth of his recovery, he knew that there was still a part of his mind that refused to give up a final secret, perhaps the most important one he’d hidden away from himself.

“How do you know it’s important?” Geeva asked one night when he spoke to her about his suspicions. A hundred and thirteen deca-phoebs had passed in The Way, and while it seemed time moved at a crawl for him, she had aged. The lines of her face were pronounced. She sat in a special chair that moved her, and as her body aged he began taking over more and more duties, taking care of her in whatever way he could. But despite her age, her eyes were bright and aware and just as sharp as the first day they’d met.

He gave her a small smile, wishing he had a better answer than the one he had. “It’s a feeling I’ve had for some time now. This sense that all of my … forgetting was somehow meant to protect this one thing.”

She arched a brow. “Do you know what it is?”

“No,” he replied, staring at the fire. “With so much of my past returned to me, this one thing … I feel the shape of it with my thoughts. I know it’s there. I know it’s important and I spend my days trying to remember what it is, but it will not reveal itself.”

“And what happens if it doesn’t?” she asked. “Does it change who you are now, and what you feel you must do?”

“I don’t believe so, no,” he sighed. “In the strangest ways, I believe it is what drives me to fight my father. The reason. Or at least the wellspring of the drive to end Zarkon’s tyranny.”

“And you would still fight Zarkon, even without knowing what that reason was?” she asked.

He didn’t hesitate. “Without question.”

Geeva smiled at him, and not for the first time did he wonder if she knew what that reason was. He’d long since learned that if she knew anything she would never say. The Way was meant for him and his recovery. It would give him what he needed. It always had.

It was why he was so surprised when one day not long after, he woke to find their ship was moving. The autopilot had taken over and was navigating out of the abyssal field. They were leaving The Way.

“You’re awake,” Geeva said as she gestured for him to take the pilot’s seat from where she sat in the co-pilots. “Just in time.”

“We’re leaving The Way,” he breathed, unsure if he was elated or bothered by the change. It had been so long, perhaps a part of him had hoped they’d never leave at all. That they’d stay there, in peace, perhaps for forever.

“All things must end, dear,” Geeva said gently. “But while The Way may have closed, there is still one more place we must go before you return back to the universe. And no, it will not take another hundred deca-phoebs.”

He chuckled at her even as his heart twisted. Reality was about to come crashing back onto him, and he had to trust that his time in The Way had prepared him.

In silence he followed her directions, locking onto a set of coordinates and carefully navigating the debris field around them until he saw a station of some kind nestled on the surface of a massive meteorite. There were ships there on the landing platform, Blade fighters. He landed beside them and saw Kolivan was waiting. He didn’t look any different from the last time he’d seen him so long ago.

Questions burned through his mind, but he forced himself to be patient as he followed Geeva out of the ship and moved toward Kolivan where he motioned toward the entrance to the station.

“The Way. Was it a success?”

“We shall see in a moment,” Geeva replied. “But I believe so.”

He wished he had the same belief she did. While in The Way, he’d felt he’d grown, but there was still that place in his memory which would not concede. He worried if he could not recall that one important set of memories, it would not have been a success at all, despite what he’d said to Geeva.

Once inside, they removed helmets, and Kolivan’s brows raised as he stared at him. He wasn’t surprised, he’d changed a great deal from when he first entered The Way. Back then he’d been little more than a walking skeleton. Now? He was healthy. His body was larger, stronger, filled-out and capable. Skin a soft lavender instead of gray. Hair long to hide his scars. Judging from Kolivan’s reaction, he could hardly believe it.

“How long were you in The Way?”

“One hundred and thirteen deca-phoebs,” he replied. “How long has it been since we entered The Way?”

“Almost three phoebs.”

It was incredible to hear. He gave Kolivan a small smile. “It seems you took the short way here.”

The Galra could only continue to stare at him like he was an impossibility.

“If The Way has restored you,” Kolivan finally said. “Then it will have been worth it.”

And there it was. Either he would be restored properly, or he wouldn’t be. They stopped before a door, and he knew that on the other side was the final test. It would determine if The Way had worked or not. Geeva took his hand.

“Go,” she said with a gentle squeeze. “And once you know, tell me, at last, if you understand.”

His brow furrowed at the strange order, but the confidence she had in her eyes made his heart lift and tighten with hope. There was something here, something she believed held meaning for him. Something strong enough that he would finally be able to understand who he was and why all of this had happened.

With as much confidence as he could muster, swallowing what lingering bit of fear still clung to his heart, he entered and found himself abruptly surrounded by foliage. The air smelled alive and fresh, clean and floral. In the distance he could hear a stream of some kind, and above was a sky — clearly an illusion, but a beautiful one — that promised a brilliant day, blue and cloudless. Geeva and Kolivan were following behind, but there was something in the smell of the air that tore through him and pulled at his composure. He was moving down a path long beaten into the dirt, but as he kept walking it felt as if he’d walked it before, long, long ago. Even with so many memories returned to him, he could not ever remember seeing a place like this, but there was no doubt in his mind as he moved further in that he’d been here before. He had.

The forest ended, and beyond that was a great field and village, natural and peaceful and alive in a way that abruptly made the backs of his eyes burn and his throat squeeze. There were people here, working, talking, going about whatever activities they were doing, but these people with their soft colors and distinctive marks … they _shouldn’t exist_. Not anymore. Not since his father had ensured their destruction.

But they were here. A colony of them, there _were here_. Alive. Safe and thriving.

The fog in his mind finally _, finally_ lifted, and he understood.

“Alteans,” he whispered, his vision blurring as every thought and emotion he’d ever experienced flooded him in an instant. What he’d done to save them. What he’d swore to do to protect them. What he’d sacrificed to make sure they would be _safe_ for a future that would need them.

Everything he’d done, fighting his father, creating the Blade of Marmora, getting captured, forgetting, becoming the witch’s weapon, becoming Dumah … it had all been for this.

“Do you remember now?” Geeva asked as she rolled to a stop by his side. At first he thought it was his tears, but he realized that no, it wasn’t his tears. The old woman looked different now, no longer Galra but Altean. Marks graced the arches of her old cheeks, and she gave him the kindest look, one filled with so much love and hope. “Please, dear. Tell me you remember.”

“I remember,” he said, his voice so tight it was a miracle anyone heard it at all. “It was all to protect this. To protect you.”

“And do you see now, why you’re so important?” she asked, her voice cracking with an emotion he’d never heard from her. Tears gathered in her eyes. “Do you understand now why we came for you as quickly as we could, why we dropped _everything_ for a chance to help you heal. My Prince, you – the Blade of Marmora _you_ left us – ensured our survival. You protected us the only way you could, by forgetting _everything_.”

“Geeva,” he whispered, his world cracking.

“Do you understand, now?” she asked, a small sob escaping her old body as she used a hand to cover her mouth. “Do you understand why you mean so much? Do you understand _all_ of this?”

Seeing her fall apart, his wonderful, patient companion who’d sacrificed over one hundred deca-phoebs of her life to give him everything he’d lost … it broke him. Immediately he was kneeling before her, hands on her thin shoulders, trying to console her even as the enormity of … _everything_ kept hitting him. There was so much now. _So much_.

By now others were coming their way, eyes widening and runners running toward the village to let the rest of the Alteans there know. They came from everywhere, the Alteans, Galran Blades posted here for their protection, elders, adults, small children, beautiful people who looked as mixed-breed as he was. There were so many now then there were in his memories. Alteans who were even wearing Blade uniforms — they had _thrived_. Grown strong. Worked with the Galran Blades and became Blades themselves.

This. This was why he’d forgotten everything. Why he’d become Dumah. It was all for a reason. All to protect this vulnerable people.

And knowing this now, he couldn’t help but be thankful because it _had_ been worth it. The enslavement, the torture, the agonies, his loss and recreation of self … that was the price he’d paid for this people, _his people_.

He knew that he would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

“You survived,” he said as tears flooded his eyes, as that tight core within him finally burst open and he remembered _everything_. “The colony—”

“Survived, my Prince,” Kolivan said, and it was then that he realized the Blade was kneeling now. Kneeling before him. “Along with the Blade.”

“You are no monster, my Prince,” Geeva sobbed with a smile so good it destroyed him. She clutched his hands firmly in hers. “You have _never_ been a monster.”

A broken sob ripped out of his throat. His lips trembled because if anyone had the right to call him a monster, it was her. The Way had not been easy for him, but in greater ways it had been worse for her. She’d witnessed all of his sins, weathered them with him, and even knowing everything he’d done, the lows he’d sunk to, all the blood on his hands, she still believed in him. He knew he would never forgive himself, and would never let himself forget, not this time. But the fact that this one good woman knew it all and had helped him through more trauma than he’d even known was possible …

The tiny part in his heart which had sworn it would never believe he’d be anything other than a monster … if only a pinpricks worth, it believed now. He’d done terrible, terrible things, but maybe he truly wasn’t the monster he’d believed he’d become.

A crowd had gathered and they were all staring at him, looking at him with hope and relief and a light he’d not seen since his time with Princess Allura. They were overjoyed to see him. _Him_.

Dumah—no. Lotor stared at the Alteans, he stared at the Blades, he stared at all of the people he’d worked so hard to save, so hard to protect. The people he’d forced himself to forget rather than risk betraying. The people his enslavement and corruption had bought freedom for, and the time needed to grow and strengthen.

Prince Lotor stared at his people, the people he had sacrificed _everything_ for – his very _soul_ to protect – and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He remembers! He's Lotor again eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
> 
> Until Thursday :]


	15. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that he's Lotor again and out of The Way, I think it's time to see what happens next~
> 
> Enjoy!

A quiet knock on his office door heralded the entrance of Kolivan, and the Blade moved silently as always before stopping in front of his desk with a soft click.

“Prince Lotor, if I may speak with you?”

Lotor looked up from the construction plans he’d been working on regarding … everything. Now that he remembered, now that his mind had healed so much from his time spent on The Way, he found the biggest struggle he suffered these days was that of information. Haggar had kept him locked away as her weapon and her pet for millennia, and during that time he’d spent a great deal of it tortured into learning the ways of the Druids, locked in silence with no information to tell him what was happening outside of the small world the witch had created.

The universe had moved on without him, and five thousand deca-phoebs worth of history was a lot for anyone to attempt to consume, especially in the time he’d demanded of himself. Technology had advanced. Weapons had advanced. Territory lines had changed. Old civilizations and worlds he’d once known were gone in the wake of the Empire, and new ones had been found and enslaved. _Everything_ had changed.

He supposed he knew now how it had felt for Princess Allura when she’d awoken from her long slumber. Lotor couldn’t begin to imagine how she’d done it. The amount he needed to learn seemed endless and insurmountable; he was drowning in it. What he wouldn’t have given to speak to her about this.

The thought had been so subtle that he hadn’t realized it was there until his fingers tightened on his stylus. He hadn’t meant to think about Princess Allura. He never meant to think about her. It felt like something he did not deserve, and there was still so much he needed to do. So much he now realized after The Way that he _could_ do to help the universe and support her from the shadows. It was the only place for him, though Kolivan disagreed and never missed an opportunity to tell him so. He looked at his second-in-command and knew that he was about to get news or an earful. Likely both.

“What is it, Kolivan?”

“Construction of the fighters is well underway, and our engineers would like you to inspect the progress thus far,” the Galra reported. “As it stands, we’re at forty percent completion on the Sincline ships.”

“Excellent,” Lotor replied with a nod. Some small tension in his chest relaxed. They were ahead of schedule, which was good. The sooner Sincline was completed, the sooner it could be used to help Princess Allura and Voltron fight the Galra Empire. It had been a stroke of good fortune, something he had not anticipated, when he’d returned a phoeb ago to find quintessence-enriched ore from a trans-reality commit had been found by Team Voltron, and that Kolivan had petitioned for the Blade to retain custody of it to prevent the Galra Empire from getting their hands on it. It was just as well because while in The Way, Lotor had thought about what he would do once he returned to the war.

He’d thought about Sincline extensively and had plans ready to give to the Blade’s engineers the moment he returned.

His return as Prince Lotor, true leader of the Blade of Marmora, had a noticeable impact on morale. When he’d last been at the Blade, the other Blades had been watchful of him. He’d thought it was merely caution at a monster’s presence, but now he realized it might have been something much more than that. They’d known. Everyone had known exactly who he was, and they’d been waiting for his return. Altean and Galran Blades all waiting for _him_.

Now that he’d remembered and returned as a fully functioning Blade, working with Kolivan to take the helm again and lead them in the battle against the Galran Empire, those watchful looks had filled with confidence and pride. Ready intent. Mission success rates increased over fifty percent. Productivity was higher than ever and the Blade was a true thorn in the Empire’s side, rising like a serpent from the shadows, fully awakening at last.

All because of him. It was hard to believe, after everything that had happened to the universe and to him, that the hopes and dreams and dedication of so many were finally starting to take shape into something that might succeed. That _would_ succeed.

And with Princess Allura and Voltron leading the way, he had no doubt.

Kolivan continued his report. He was still the face of the Blade of Marmora which was what everyone decided was best, given Lotor’s importance and the likelihood that the Galra Empire would be looking for him. For Dumah. Lotor was content to be the shadow driving the Blade for now. He did not think the universe was ready for him to be more visible. He certainly did not feel as if he was, personally. In time, there would be no choice but to step up as Prince Lotor, but for now he was content with the way things were currently running.

Once Kolivan was done and Lotor had made all the pertinent notes and given his ideas to be implemented, he waited for the Galra to leave.

Kolivan did not, and Lotor sighed. He suspected he knew what this was about, but he asked anyway.

To Kolivan’s credit, his features didn’t change in the slightest. “She’s asking for you.”

Lotor frowned, ignoring the way his chest twisted.

“She’s asking for a wraith. She’s not asking for me.”

“She asks after you every chance she has.”

A sigh swelled out of Lotor’s chest. “And what have you told her?”

“That I would pass on her messages. Nothing more.”

Lotor frowned. Princess Allura was a subject he went out of his way to avoid whenever possible. Even now his memories of her were threadbare and faded from his time in The Way. But he still remembered her kindness and the light of her presence. The tender feelings that still rested in his chest.

And he still remembered what she’d seen him do. What the witch had made him do, and that it had not been as long for her at all. Princess Allura remembered something from phoebs ago. It was still fresh for her, and he … he had changed. And he was not ready to face her, not yet. Not when he still felt so … fragile.

“What are your thoughts, Kolivan?” he finally said, relenting. “I know you have them.”

“I believe it is in the Blade’s best interest to foster as much rapport with Voltron as possible. As the true leader of the Blade of Marmora and who you really are, you will need to engage her. And perhaps sometime soon.”

Lotor couldn’t help the derisive snort that slipped from him. “Yes, because I’m certain she will be thrilled to find her greatest ally is the son of Zarkon.”

“I believe she will be relieved to find that she is not alone,” Kolivan corrected, his tone steady as ever. “And that her greatest ally is her equal.”

Lotor couldn’t stop the small, quiet chuckle. “I am no equal to anyone, Kolivan. You have seen how far I fell. Believe me when I tell you that I have not risen much further.”

“If you’ll permit me, I do not believe you fell as far as you think you did,” Kolivan replied. “In all the deca-phoebs you were captive, you never gave up the Blade. You never gave up the Alteans. You sacrificed yourself before you let that happen. That is not a fall.”

Lotor thought of his Number. He thought of his corrupted quintessence, his nightmares, and the memories that were always waiting for him now that there was no fog or darkness to hide them in.

“There is no right answer,” he muttered before straightening. “But then, there never is. Especially not for a Blade.”

Kolivan said nothing but lifted his chin in agreement.

“I will give what you’ve told me some thought,” Lotor finally said. “I do not necessarily agree that her and I meeting directly is a good idea at this point in time, but perhaps … indirectly. And it _is_ time I joined the battlefield properly.”

“I’ll have a team assembled for you,” Kolivan replied, and although nothing about his face or tone changed, the easy readiness of his response was enough for Lotor to guess that his second-in-command had been planning this for some time. It was likely he _already_ had a team assembled. “I will return later with a list of available missions for you to choose from.”

“Thank you, Kolivan.”

The Galra left, leaving him to his work, but for the moment Lotor’s thoughts were restless and uncooperative, and he knew better than to carry on. This was what he’d been truly avoiding, seeing Princess Allura again, and it seemed that sooner than he would have liked, he would be working with her. Even if she did not know it.

His heart rose at the thought of seeing her again, then lashed itself as he remembered everything he’d done and everything she did not yet know about him.

It was moments like these when he missed Geeva’s calming presence. After returning to the colony and finally realizing who he was and … everything, her role had been completed. She’d gently patted him on the cheek and pressed a kiss to his brow before telling him he needed to go out into the universe again, now that he knew himself once more. She would see him any time he managed to visit, but it was time for her to remain in the colony.

“And it’s time, I think, for you to speak with a certain princess again,” she’d added before he’d left. “You two will bring an era of peace unlike anything the universe has ever known. I know it.”

“I pray you’re right,” was all he’d been able to say, even if he had a great many doubts on that front. He knew who he was now, the son of Zarkon. Princess Allura was gracious, but even he doubted her kindness and understanding would extend that far. It barely did for himself. “It’s more likely that she will attempt to kill me once she finds out who I am.”

“I’m sure she will understand, one day, the sacrifices you’ve made,” Geeva said. “No doubt it will take time, but I have faith, my Prince. You should have some as well.”

He wished it was that simple and easy. He knew better to think otherwise. But he also knew that he would have to speak to her again one day, and he would have to tell Princess Allura the truth. This support he was giving, anonymous as it was, would be a start down that path. It had to be. And while he might not have faith in himself or the future in the same way Geeva did, he had faith in Geeva. Over a hundred deca-phoebs she’d believed in him, and he had proved her right, even when he’d thought he would surely fail. If she believed, perhaps he should truly learn from her wisdom. So, ready or not, he would do this.

He just hoped it wouldn’t be a mistake.

* * *

Lotor felt the descent as the fighter neared the ground where he and his team would begin their mission. This wasn’t the first he’d run with them. After everything that had happened, both he and Kolivan thought it wise to ease into field missions as a Blade. It wasn’t at all that he’d lost his edge in The Way. It was more about making sure his battle responses were appropriate. To ensure he could control his lethal quintessence and rely solely on his physical abilities. The last thing anyone needed was for Haggar to get word that there was a Druid-like Blade operating with Voltron. No doubt she’d come after him immediately, and the witch’s attention now of all times was unwanted.

He liked and approved of the team Kolivan had put together, all four of them veteran Blades who had proved themselves as intelligent, quick, and capable.

It struck him that Kolivan had also somehow assembled perhaps the loudest group of Blades possible to act as his guard. And one of them couldn’t even see or speak.

“Are we there yet?” Ezor asked brightly, eyes wide as she stared ahead. “This is so exciting. I can’t wait to see one of the lions!”

“You saw Voltron two phoebs ago,” Zethrid said as she rolled her eyes.

“That was Voltron,” Ezor replied. “We didn’t get to see it become lions. I’m only interested in the lions.”

Narti’s tail flicked at the end, though the rest of her remained calm and composed. The pink space caterpillar resting in her palm as she stroked its back — everyone called it Sassy on account of its rather sassy nature — was docile for the time being, watching them so Narti could see as well.

“Focus,” Acxa said sternly. “We’re here to do a mission, remember.” She glanced toward him. Usually he would fly, but he wanted to take the time to plan, reading up on recent battle logs Voltron had shared. “We’re almost there.”

“Good,” he said, closing the information as he prepared himself and his team. “Over there in that clearing. We don’t want anyone to find us.”

The mission was fairly simple. Infiltration of a Galra outpost and rescue of prisoners which a Voltron Paladin would help evacuate to safety in the nearby Castle of Lions. All of their intel had been done already and the mission prepared for in its entirety. The only thing he didn’t know was which Voltron Paladin would help them, which given the humans’ variety could cause all sorts of deviations to the plan.

And then there was the new Paladin of the Blue Lion.

The ship settled on the ground with a slight thud and in that moment all masks were activated, hoods were drawn, and weapons were ready. The light air which had existed in the ship mellowed and soon they were out of the ship and taking their positions. They’d gone through the plan enough to know what their individual objectives were. All that was left was a signal from him to begin.

After checking the sensor, he saw that the most recent change of sentry was about to end. The lights flickered very briefly from interference from a local who had promised to help.

Lotor nodded. Acxa sent a signal to the Paladin waiting in the wings.

They were moving.

Intel showed there was a hidden opening that the Galra were not aware about and Lotor was quick to take advantage of. Within doboshes they were at the opening and Ezor and Narti had wormed their way through. The rest of them waiting at the bottom, and from the darkness of the opening, Sassy’s markings flashed quickly in their established code.

_All clear_.

The rest of the team followed after, and once the coast was clear they split into groups. Acxa, Ezor, and Zethrid headed toward the command suite to disable all communication the outpost had with the rest of the Galra Empire in the area, and he and Narti went to save the captives.

He and Narti moved with stealth the others would never possess. No matter that he’d trained in The Way for so long, no matter that he’d trained to focus on a different fighting style, from the moment he went into the field, old habits built over five thousand deca-phoebs took over and he moved quieter than a ghost. It had been strange to do with a healthy body, but it amazed him that he was doing it, and doing it well. His silence hadn’t left him – it was still there – only this time it was under his control. Not a weapon he was forced to use out of necessity.

It made working and communicating with Narti the smoothest thing in the world. They didn’t always need Sassy’s help communicating. He understood what the slightest twist of a wrist might mean, or what she meant when her tail arched. Silence had taught him many things, and now he realized it made communicating with her very easy.

She glanced his way, Sassy’s markings dim in the darkness. They were close now and there were Galra stationed just outside the cells. He gave her hand signals which Sassy kept a close eye on. Narti nodded. Slowly he pulled out his ceremonial blades – one from his life before, and a second for his new life, perfect for his newly developed duel-bladed fighting style.

The next instant they were both in motion, as silent and unknown as the shadows. There were three guards, each with a laser rifle of their own. Lotor swept up behind one and took him out with one sword while he used his other to knock the second back against Narti’s waiting tail while she rapidly took care of the third. The second one fell, but by then Lotor had swung himself around and drove both his weapons home. The Galra sputtered, but otherwise didn’t make a sound before he passed. It was over in ticks and had been near silent.

From behind them in the cell, eyes peered out at them. One brave, lone whisper curled out.

“Are … are you here to help us?”

“Yes,” Lotor said, moving toward the control panel. He activated the door. “We’re working with Voltron to save you and liberate this planet. Now we have to move fast. One of the Voltron Lions is on its way to take you to safety, but we have to hurry.”

“I’ve heard about you,” one person said with hard, untrusting eyes. “That uniform. The Blade of Marmora? I’ve heard the Blade are Galra.” They looked around them at their fellow prisoners. “I think this is a trick! Galra will always be Galra, no matter who they say they are.”

“They freed us!” another insisted. “And once we get outside, I’m sure we’ll find out if they’re telling the truth when a Voltron Lion arrives.”

“Or they might just be waiting to herd us outside so that they could kill us. A nice firing line, and no one will have to clean the cells.”

That sent unrest through the group, and Lotor knew firsthand that it was a fair concern. After all, how many times had something similar been done to him, only _he_ had been the firing squad to the group of fearful slaves. As much as he wanted them to understand that they _were_ there to help, as much as he wanted to save them, he knew the best he could do was tell them the truth.

“It’s true you can’t be sure. The Galra Empire has done things such as that, and worse still. But we are not them. A Voltron Paladin _is_ coming, and if we do not leave now, we cannot guarantee that there will be a second chance. You will have to make a decision.”

His frank response seemed to work as it settled most. Soon the slaves were leaving the cell and he and Narti were leading the way out.

“Acxa?”

“Clear on our end for now, but an outpost alarm was triggered,” she reported over the comm. “Sentries are coming, and if we’re not careful the central computer will detect something and send an automated distress signal to the network. We need to hurry and either take out the sentries or get these people out right now.”

“We’re on our way,” he said, already moving. “Keep the path clear and destroy as many sentries as you can, but the priority is the survivor’s safety and extraction.”

Affirmatives were sounded from all members, with Sassy giving a quick flash of her markings in understanding. They moved as quickly as they could, given a quarter of the liberated slaves were too weak to do more than hobble and rely on others to help them along. But soon enough the exit was in view, and with Lotor and Narti quick to destroy any unfortunate sentries, the way was clear.

The group was out under the clouded sky and halfway toward the rendezvous location when a barrage of laser fire shot their way. The prisoners screamed and a glance back showed a line of sentries along the opening and in several high locations along the outpost. Now there _was_ a firing squad aimed at them. Of course.

He, Zethrid, and Acxa made a quick firing line of their own, sending bright volleys of cover fire as the rest ran ahead. This was a problem. They needed the Voltron Lion to arrive, and soon. It was possible to get some of the prisoners off-planet with their Blade ship, but it wouldn’t hold them all.

“Any word?” he shouted as he shot his weapon.

“They said they’d be here,” Acxa replied, calm under fire.

“Well,” Zethrid said through gritted teeth. “They’re sure taking their sweet time, aren’t they—?”

A roar from above filled the air, and it was so sudden and so familiar despite not having heard it for so long that Lotor couldn’t stop himself from grinning. A Paladin had arrived.

A flash of blue and white descended.

The shadow of the Blue Lion hung over them like an angel. The slaves between Lotor and his Blades were all pointing and cheering, even while laser fire was still flying their way, and for a moment time stilled. Any of the Voltron Paladins might have come, any of them, and he hadn’t let himself hope for one over another.

And yet it was the Blue Lion, piloted by Princess Allura, which had come.

She was here.

A laser landed closer to his position than he appreciated, but it broke him out of his stupor and focused him. They needed to take out the threat so it would be safer for Princess Allura to collect and transport the freed slaves to safety.

The activity would provide him a dearly needed distraction.

“Narti. Zethrid.”

“Yes!” Zethrid said, a grin in her voice as the three of them broke away and charged forward. Narti was already racing ahead, faster than Lotor, and in no time she’d crossed the distance, dodging round after round of light. Zethrid, true to form, had found something heavy to throw, crushing a sentry before dashing forward to meet her next opponent head-on with her blade.

Lotor embraced the strength of his muscles, relishing in their power and energy, strength found from his body itself instead of the quintessence which could have powered it. Under no circumstance would he use his quintessence, not here, not if he had a choice, and so once he was close enough he activated the full length of his blades and tore through two sentries, rendering them smoking heaps. It felt good to take down more threats, to keep the others that much safer, but he didn’t linger. The fight was in full swing and he had no intention of stopping until every threat in the compound had been dealt with.

Acxa and Ezor kept comm-chatter to a minimum but he was well-informed when the Blue Lion landed, what they needed him, Zethrid, and Narti to do so the freed slaves could safely board, and then for the Blue Lion with Acxa inside to leave the area. Ezor flew in, having jumped from the Blue Lion to lend what aid she could, and soon enough the base was theirs. Lotor’s muscles ached with latent energy and motion, but he felt good. Alive after it all. He was made to fight like this. To fight injustice and the Empire.

But now the work here was done. The next phase of the plan would begin once Acxa returned from the safety of the Castle of Lions. Now that they knew it was the Blue Lion who would be helping them with the various liberation missions they would be doing on this world, he was better able to make plans. To use the Blue Lion to their advantage and help everyone who needed help here on this world.

And it would be with Princess Allura.

After destroying the comms systems and disabling any tracking or alert systems that might have been activated, Lotor and the others waited outside for the Blue Lion to return.

It came as it always did in his memory, only this time the Blue Lion’s motions were smoother, more agile and controlled. There was no way Lance could have ever piloted the Lion so smoothly, and that meant it _had_ to be her, even if a part of him hoped otherwise.

The Lion’s port opened and Acxa stepped out along with a slim Paladin in white and pink, confident and composed with her helmet tucked under her arm and her starlight hair pulled back.

Like this, after over a hundred deca-phoebs, she was once again the most beautiful thing Lotor had ever seen. He realized that his memories of her, as his memories always did of the beautiful and good things in his life, had dwindled and faded. Of course he’d seen pictures, but they were nothing compared to her in person.

He could not help but stare.

“Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Princess Allura said, her smile brilliant and her eyes as clear and blue as he remembered. “Acxa was just telling me that you’re the team currently assigned to support Voltron. I pray that the example we set will inspire others to take up the cause to fight the Galra Empire and accept the Blade of Marmora in the fight we all share.”

“The Blade doesn’t need to be accepted,” Zethrid said proudly. “We’re here to defeat the Galra Empire. That is our goal.”

Narti’s tail twitched. Sassy’s markings began to flash in code. Ezor translated.

“It doesn’t mean we can’t do both. I think it would be a great idea if the Blade of Marmora were better understood.” Ezor shrugged. “It would make our work a little easier, at least.”

“Quite right,” Princess Allura agreed with a smile that Lotor hadn’t realized he’d been waiting to see. It was like seeing the sun for the first time in a very long time, warm and life-giving and everything good.

“Please, I like to know the names of those I’m working with, especially if they’re of the Blade of Marmora,” Princess Allura said. “If you’d be so kind?”

“I’m Zethrid,” Zethrid said before jerking a thumb toward Narti. “The one with the tail’s Narti. The caterpillar’s Sassy.”

“Acxa mentioned you spoke differently than the others,” Princess Allura said, nodding to Narti and Sassy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m Ezor!” Ezor said brightly with a perky wave, and it was just as well because Lotor felt as if the ground had shifted under him. He had not anticipated this, how forward she’d be with asking their names. To anyone else it would have seemed like he was quiet, but deep down he was stunned. Ezor was quick to speak up for him. “He’s Lotor.”

Although he opened his mouth to speak from behind his mask, no words came out. Instead he gave a silent nod. Narti’s face turned toward him and Sassy’s marks flashed again, Sassy’s eyes pointed.

_Say something._

But it was as if all the words he’d remastered had abandoned him. He didn’t know what to say to her, now that they were practically face-to-face, and he knew he needed to. Silence had been Dumah’s hallmark, and if she was asking for the person he’d been, she would also be looking for any hint of him.

Still, even with reason pounding through his mind, he could not speak.

How Acxa knew so quickly, he might never know, but then again Kolivan had chosen her to be on his elite team. Perhaps this was a reason why because she was quick to recapture the princess’s attention, asking after what would happen to the prisoners, if any more of the Voltron Paladins would be coming along, if she required anything. Princess Allura was fully attentive to Acxa, but Lotor noticed the way, every chance she had, her crystalline blue eyes would dart his way.

It felt like she could see past his Blade mask and somehow _knew_. He was so different in form that he personally thought there was no way anyone would be able to guess. He’d changed from the wraith he’d once been, filled out, grown stronger, moved differently.

And yet, how could she possibly suspect? Somehow, _somehow_ , he knew she did.

“If that will be all,” Acxa said when she noticed the small hand sign he’d given her. Lotor was already turning away, Zethrid and Narti moving in sync. They _did_ have to go, but he also needed to leave. He couldn’t accidentally give Princess Allura any more information than he already had. Acxa and Ezor followed, but before they could properly leave, Princess Allura spoke.

“Wait. Please wait. Before you go, I have a question,” the princess said, and he could not help how he slowed to a pause. His team stopped with him, he could all but feel their eyes on him as they waited for his lead. Lotor only allowed himself to glance over his shoulder. To catch the faintest glimpse of white and pink.

“What is it, Princess Allura? Is there something you need?” Acxa asked when the silence had grown. “The next phase of the mission will begin soon, and we need to get in position.”

“No, I’m sorry. It’s nothing really,” she said quickly, but despite her words a tightness grew in her voice. She stared at him, and her words were almost pleading. “It’s just … Dumah?”

Lotor struggled to remain calm, to remain still as could be and show nothing when within his heart slammed violently in his chest. He had not heard that name in … so long. Geeva had never used it, and neither had Kolivan or Antok or anyone in the Blade. After so long in The Way, the name had faded. The name he’d needed and depended upon just to make it from one moment to the next. He’d never even said it himself, since regaining speech.

But Princess Allura said it and once again made it real. Made that part of him he’d struggled with for so long to abandon and then integrate within himself _real_.

Made the monster he was trying to move on from … real.

And that thought more than anything was sobering. It seemed he could work with the Princess like this and in this capacity. But he could not be Dumah anymore, not as he once was. He could not let that part of him which had wanted so simply to be by her side grow and want again. It would benefit no one, and he belonged like this, shadowed and unknown by her light.

“Excuse us, Princess,” he said, his voice clear and smooth. “We must be going.”

“Oh, of course,” she said quickly, taking steps back and away before straightening. His voice had thrown her, and her features were pinched. “Forgive me, it’s just … I’m sorry. I mistook you for someone. Good luck with your mission. The Blue Lion will be nearby if you need aid.”

“Thank you, Princess,” Lotor said, eyeing her for a moment longer before turning away, his team following. “May fortune be on your side as well.”

But a quick glance back showed she wasn’t listening. She was already walking away, wordless, and her shoulders seemed lower than they’d been.

“You’re not going to tell her?” Ezor asked curiously, and Lotor couldn’t help but sigh.

“It’s better this way. She doesn’t need to know who I was or who I am. This is enough. For now.”

“Even though you’ll have to tell her eventually?”

“Ezor!” Acxa chided. Lotor lifted a hand.

“At the very least she’ll know that we’ve been supporting her even when she didn’t know. And it’s important that we work with her as a team for the future, when she and Voltron will need our help most of all. As I said, for now, it’s better this way.”

They didn’t say anything more. He nodded for them to begin the next phase of the mission and allowed himself one moment to hope that he was right before he pressed such thoughts out of his mind and sank into relentless focus.

* * *

In the movements that followed, he and his team worked closely with Voltron and the Paladins whenever they were able to provide support. Often it was merely in the form of espionage or subtlety, but there was no denying that they were making a good team. Of course the missions never lasted long, but that didn’t bother him. He was pleased to be working with them at all.

It was a selfish thing, but he was happy for whatever time he had to spend by Princess Allura’s side.

He often felt her eyes on him though, even when he was surrounded by other Blades dressed identically to him. Somehow she was always able to pick him out, even when he had not stated who he was in a group, and he frequently found himself near her by no will but hers. Several times she’d attempted to pull him into conversation. Once she’d even used the sign language he’d learned so long ago, but because it had been so long for him, he could not recall more than a sign or two, which was helpful as it prevented him from reacting as Dumah might have.

The problem became that he _wanted_ to react. He wanted to talk to her, connect with her, but every time he thought about it, he always encountered the same problem. He wasn’t Dumah anymore. True, Dumah was a part of him, a part he would never be able to let go of, and that was fine. But he could not be the wraith anymore. Not for anyone, not even her. Not when he’d done so much to come back to who he once was and the person he wanted to be. He was Lotor once again. A different version than who he’d been five thousand deca-phoebs ago, but that was _who he was_.

And Princess Allura, he doubted she would be able to accept the truth of that.

So he was careful to restrain his urges, but he never hesitated to help her whenever she required it. And it seemed that, at least, was enough. She never refused to accept his help — though if it was still from some lingering suspicion about his identity, he didn’t know — and would always give him more of a smile, even if it was still tentative as if she wasn’t quite sure.

He made certain not to do anything overt, because not only did he have to avoid the princess, it became clear one mission that the High Priestess was still, indeed looking for him.

Perhaps it had been his extensive time spent in The Way, but a part of him had hoped that with his absence would come the witch’s disappointment. Her decision to leave him be, but he knew better than that, he truly did. She’d spent millennia perfecting him, training him to be her perfect weapon. Teaching him everything the Druids knew, and now he was capable — and very willing — to turn that knowledge against her and the Galra Empire without hesitation. She would never stop hunting him, and he’d known that, but it hadn’t quite sunk in how far she’d go until they found several assassins intent on finding a Druid-like mute wraith.

It had been Princess Allura to let them know when they’d found the first one, and it had been through the grapevine of Kolivan that he’d learned at all. He’d been away observing the construction of the Sincline ships when Kolivan had told him, and for the briefest moment he was back in his life-support machine, bound and waiting for the moment when he would be used next. When the next particle of the crumble that was left of his soul would be ground away.

“According to their intel, she’s doing everything in her power to find you. There are hunters and assassins across the universe attempting to do so. There’s even a bounty.”

“Do you think she’d give it to us if the Blade turned me in?” Lotor asked blandly once he had pulled himself from the horror of his past. “We could use the funds.”

Kolivan, predictably, had not been amused.

With the threat to him heightened, he supposed he wasn’t surprised when his team followed him doggedly everywhere. Neither the Blade nor the Alteans were willing to take any chances with his life or the possibility that Haggar would somehow slip her hands around him again and take him from them. It didn’t matter that he was in charge or what he said. They would not relent.

He could all but imagine what Geeva would have said to him if she’d known what was going on. “Can you blame us?”

Lotor supposed, after so long attempting to find him, he could not. And so he allowed it, even if he thought it was overkill.

Especially when, sometimes, it seemed as if the Blue Lion was always nearby these days, waiting.

He moved as a member of the Blade, near indistinguishable from any of the others. It was his real defense, being undetectable, and for a long time he managed to keep it. Hold himself in check and be nothing more than a skilled warrior and assassin. Just another dark member of a hydra fighting the Emperor.

Fortune rarely favored him, however. It wasn’t as long as he’d hoped it would be before he exposed himself.

Of course, he had not meant to — he never _meant_ for his plans to fall apart. It was just the way of the world, he supposed, as it always was, and naturally it was because of Princess Allura.

The mission had not been easy, but they’d been well-briefed, and the plan had been solid. It was a coordinated attack on a supply station that was well-defended everywhere except from above. They’d dropped in from stealth with Princess Allura along as a member of the infiltration team. Truthfully he had not wanted her with them, but there was rumor a rather brilliant scientist was on board, one Pidge was eager to find. But Pidge was on the other side of the galaxy at the moment.

“I have to do this,” Princess Allura said when he told her she shouldn’t come. “I promised Pidge, and I will not go back on my word.” He knew that when he saw that stubborn look in her eye there would be no moving on the point. He had a lot of good reasons for why she should not join them. She was a member of Team Voltron, so he knew she could handle herself, but she lacked the subtle art that came with being a member of the Blade. She was active and loud where their methods were subtle and silent. She ran ahead. They waited and struck precisely. It was true that they’d been working together for some time now, but not like this. Not in this capacity.

His personal team had all edged glances his way. Sassy’s marks had flickered in a way he was quite certain did not reflect Narti’s actual thoughts, given the way Narti crossed her arms. They did not think this was a good idea any more than he had. She shouldn’t come.

In retrospect he should have listened, but in that moment he had not been able to tell her no.

The beginning of the plan went well enough with himself, Acxa, and Princess Allura completing the infiltration while the rest of his team created the diversion which would hopefully keep the rest of the Galra at bay while they moved and searched as rapidly as they were able. Unfortunately, they had not anticipated encountering as many defenses as there were, or guards. The moment the distraction team had begun, alarms had been sent out to a nearby Galra outpost and within doboshes there were Galra fighters hanging around in the air, attempting to root them out.

Acxa had found the information they were looking for but Princess Allura had not found the rumored scientist.

“He’s not here, Princess,” he said after searching the database. “There’s no record of him ever being here. It could have been deliberate misinformation. A trap.”

Her features tightened. It was clear she didn’t want to believe it, but the simple fact was that Pidge’s father was not here, and the pressure outside meant they needed to leave.

She followed him out of the base with him clearing the path ahead while she provided cover from behind using her shield and bayard. Acxa was ahead, going for the hidden fighter so she could provide air support while they ran into the forest to break contact. His teammate was quick to fire, giving them the break they needed to make it to the safety of the trees where they dashed in at a run. They didn’t stop, not when there was still laser fire following them, along with shouts and the heavy plod of footsteps.

Someone had been quick enough to follow after them, and with this sort of tree cover, Acxa wouldn’t be able to help them. The Blue Lion would be hard-pressed to find somewhere safe to land, not to mention the other Paladins in the area would take time to arrive. For now they were on their own.

He hadn’t thought much of the one behind them, and that, he realized later, had been his problem. He’d underestimated his opponent when he should have known better.

They’d just entered a field when he told the princess that he would circle back around to take out their persistent follower, and the plan had succeeded. Not long after she’d made it across the clearing, a form of white and pink safe in the distance did Lotor ambush the Galra, rendering him incapable of ever following them again. He felt satisfied. They were safe. Princess Allura was looking back at him smiling.

Behind her he made out another Galra who’d been waiting for them. His rifle was trained on her back.

Lotor didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate.

One moment he was across the field. The next he’d twisted space and his blade met the weapon meant for Princess Allura with a deafening clang that rang through the air. Princess Allura gasped behind him, but he focused instead on the creature in front of him. Of defeating it, disabling it. His muscles heaved with strength, and he parried the rifle away so the arch of lasers moved safely away from Princess Allura and into the sky and trees around them.

The Galra soldier shouted in panic, but Lotor hardly noticed. His thoughts had gone silent at the shock of seeing Princess Allura so vulnerable and on the brink of death. He had only one thought and goal in mind. End the threat.

And he did so, quickly and efficiently. The soldier could do little more than gasp as his sword swept through, and then his body dropped to the ground. Energy flooded his blood, the burn of quintessence exquisite like a flash of lightning in his body after so long keeping it contained. It had been so easy. Like breathing. Less like something evil as it had always been under the witch’s control and more like something that was his. Something he was learning to own once again.

Princess Allura had seen.

He pulled his sword out of the Galra before slinging what gore he could off and sheathing it. They were safe for the moment. He didn’t know for how much longer. All he _did_ know was that if they stopped, if he let _her_ stop, then everything he’d been attempting to avoid would come to light. And he did not want that to happen.

“We need to go. There’s a rendezvous ahead. My team will be waiting for us.”

Lotor didn’t move, however, not when the princess was staring at him like that. She’d climbed to her feet, but she wasn’t moving. She only stared. Her eyes hardened.

“You were across the field a tick ago. You used quintessence to travel.”

“Princess—”

“—I _felt_ it,” she said firmly, lips pressed thin before she moved again. Not to head toward the rendezvous, but instead to advance on him. Princess Allura gave a bitter laugh. “It’s you. I _know_ it’s you! I’ve been right all along, haven’t I?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hedged, turning away. “We need to go—”

Lotor flinched when she grabbed his arm and this time he could not help himself. Despite deca-phoebs of recovery, there was still millennia of ingrained habits, and his response was immediate and clear. He glowered, jaw clenching though she could not see and the silence around him became a near tangible thing, heavy and weighted. He knew that if Princess Allura had had any doubts before, there were none now. No matter what he did to distance himself from who he had been, the pressure of his silence was unchanging.

Somehow that seemed to startle her most of all because her fingers loosened, and he pulled away and didn’t say another thing before leading the way forward. Princess Allura finally followed and at last, she did not say a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhhh, he's been found out! Guess Allura's going to have to find out about all these delightful new changes :]
> 
> See you Monday!


	16. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! Let's see what happens now that Allura knows~
> 
> Enjoy!

Lotor didn’t give Princess Allura time to question him, nor did he respond to her when she eventually tried again. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he wanted to do about the situation, now that she knew. All he’d wanted was to protect her and support her discreetly. He’d never anticipated that she’d somehow figure it out. He’d never _wanted_ her to figure it out. Perhaps what he’d really wanted was for her to forget about him completely. Forget what he’d been and let that version of him fade away and sleep forever within himself.

It seemed that would now be impossible.

“Dumah, wait, please,” she tried again as they neared the rendezvous. Acxa was already waiting with Hunk and the Yellow Lion, and never before had he been so relieved and so eager to leave. He’d known she’d find out one day, but never had he thought it would be like this. It had happened so suddenly that he had trouble believing it had happened at all.

But Princess Allura kept pressing.

“Where have you been?” she asked, trying a different tactic to lure him into conversation when conversation was the last thing in the world he wanted. “I was right, wasn’t I? You’ve always been here, haven’t you?”

He clenched his jaw tight and the action was familiar and stabilizing, even if it bothered him by how easy it still was to fall into old habits after so long. Lotor attempted to relax his jaw, but the muscles refused to budge. He worried that if they relaxed, words he was not yet ready to say would spill out.

“Why did you leave like you did? At least tell me that?”

He moved more quickly, and he was disappointed when she kept up, relentlessly dogging his footsteps while firing question after question.

“You’ve spoken before, why aren’t you speaking now? How were you able to learn to speak again? It’s only been a few phoebs, you had quintessent scarring, none of this makes sense.” Princess Allura reached for him. “Please, just talk to me.”

Her fingers were mere inches from his wrist, but the thought of her touching him was too stark to ignore. Lotor stilled abruptly, drawing his arm out of range, and she all but stumbled to a stop. But she waited and as much of a struggle as it was to unclench his jaw and release his silence, he managed. If just.

“I will return in a quintant. We will speak then. Until then, there is a mission to complete, and I believe you still need to speak with the Green Paladin.”

She blinked, then frowned, clearly unhappy with the blunt response. “And how do I know you’re going to return? You left without a word last time, and you’ve been here this whole time without mentioning a thing. You’re _speaking_ now, and—”

Lotor was already turning away and when she made to grab for him again he embraced his silence once more, presence turning heavy. Hunk’s footsteps were heavy on the ground as he neared.

“Hey, uh, is everything okay over here?”

Lotor glowered before turning away again, eager to be gone. Princess Allura didn’t seem able to stop.

“Please, don’t leave again like this. Dumah—”

It was the name that did it. He’d put up with it for as long as he’d been able, but he could not listen to her say that name one more time. Hunk was gaping at him, eyes wide, but that was the last Lotor saw before he twisted space and flashed into the Blade fighter. As surprised as Acxa was, she didn’t falter and the hatch shut behind them. He was already in the pilot’s seat and in the air, and three ticks later they were gone.

* * *

“It was bound to happen eventually,” Kolivan said. “Princess Allura is perceptive and tenacious.”

Lotor did not need Kolivan to tell him that. He had learned of her perception and tenacity long ago.

“This is a problem,” Lotor finally said, pressing fingers into his brow.

“I’m not so sure,” Kolivan replied, and already Lotor knew where this was going. “Perhaps it’s time that the universe realized who you are. Perhaps it’s time to force Zarkon and Haggar to fall on the defensive. You know who you are now. The Blade knows. It might be time everyone else knows as well. And the sooner the better.”

“The sooner the better,” Lotor said with a shake of his head. “I’m not sure I agree. The universe will come together for Princess Allura. But Prince Lotor, son of Emperor Zarkon? It’s a lot to ask of anyone after everything he has done. After everything the Galra Empire has done.”

“We both know Zarkon does not speak for all of us. You yourself founded the Blade and it is its efforts as well as Voltrons which now turn the tides of war. The universe should know.”

“And if I do not wish the universe to know?” he asked. “How long do you think it will be before my sins as Haggar’s slave are revealed? What am I to ask of the families of those who I was forced to kill? How am I to help bring _peace_ to the universe when I have done a considerable amount of pain to it?”

“With allies and support, as is the way with everything in life,” Kolivan counseled calmly. “The Blade is not innocent. No one is innocent.”

“But I am guilty,” Lotor replied.

Kolivan stared at him for a long moment before he said, “You did not choose to do these things.”

He had not, but the reality was that he had still done them. His Number would not be so great if he had instead found the strength to die instead.

But then where would Princess Allura be? Or Voltron? Or the Blade? Or the colony?

There was never an easy answer.

“The fact of the matter remains. She knows now, and there is no hiding that. There’s no better time than now to assume the mantle you were meant to take.” Kolivan straightened. “Prince Lotor, it’s better to take this into your own hands and control it, rather than risk allowing others ruin what could be a victory for not only us, but the Paladins of Voltron as well.”

Lotor glanced away from Kolivan to hide the amalgam of discontent writhing in his chest. The Galra spoke with wisdom and reason, just as he always did, there was no denying that. But that did not make it any easier when deep down Lotor still inwardly cringed every time he was called by his title.

If he did this, there was no going back into the comforting shadow of the Blade. He could not hide or run from who he was or what he had once been. Once he did this, he would have to be exactly who he was, for good or bad. Whether Princess Allura accepted that or not. Everyone would know.

And soon enough, even Zarkon and Haggar would as well.

But not if he could help it. Princess Allura might know now. So too might the Paladins. But that did not mean it had to expand out. Not yet. Kolivan was right. He would have to make his entrance on his own terms. But that did not mean he had to do it immediately, or to a full, public extent.

He could start with Princess Allura though.

Lotor sighed, then nodded to Kolivan. “Contact the Paladins. Tell them that I will be there tomorrow. And I will tell them what they wish to know.”

“Of course, my Prince.”

Lotor hid the pinch in his face well, but it was a near thing. He’d have to get used to it from now on. It was only by his decree that the rest of the Blades did not use his title. But within the safety of the base they still did, though, the Galra and the Alteans. His team particularly, but no doubt Kolivan did it more deliberately than everyone else.

The Blade left him alone, and for the first time all day, Lotor let his bearing drop. He scrubbed his face with a hand before turning to face the narrow wardrobe in the corner and what lay inside. Ever since returning to the Blade, he’d been content to use a standard Blade’s uniform. He did not want to stick out, even when Kolivan had insisted he wear at least a leader’s uniform, as was his right. But not long after Lotor’s return, Kolivan showed him a storage unit filled with things Lotor now remembered.

“The light of your blade never went out, so we knew you were still alive,” Kolivan had explained. “Every leader of the Blade guarded your possessions for the day we would find you.”

In the safety of his room, alone, he’d gone through possessions he’d had five thousand deca-phoebs ago. Half of it had degraded and deteriorated beyond repair, and a quarter he had to let go because he could not bear the sight of them anymore. They were relics of a Lotor long past, and he could not afford to take steps backward when it was the future he wished to save.

But there were some things he could not let go of. His ceremonial blade, his catalog of ancient texts, knowledge, and research. The item he’d risked everything for in the first place.

There was one thing, however, that he’d been unable to decide if he wanted to keep or let go, and with no clear answer he’d kept it with him, meditating on it whenever he happened to see it. Lotor stared at it now and sighed.

His royal armor.

Lotor eyed the regalia of his past, the formal armor of a warrior and a prince. As it had been so long ago, it was a remarkable piece, and a touch was enough to tell him that it had been recently upgraded and modified with more modern materials and technologies to reflect the change in millennia. He could remember wearing this outfit so long ago. He remembered what it had stood for then. What it had meant. What his dreams and plans had been.

Those dreams and plans … they were still unchanged after all this time, strengthened by the proof of his devotion and sacrifice to them. He would do this, even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. A universe and all its people might depend on this one decision, to step out of the shadows and into the light.

What was a little more sacrifice when he’d already given up so much?

Decision made, Lotor began stripping out of his Blade’s uniform and reached instead for his royal armor.

* * *

Princess Allura had all but stated the time and place they would meet when Kolivan contacted her. Her tone had been cool and focused as the Galra had told her that they should meet and there was a great deal they needed to discuss.

Lotor flew with his team as they refused to let him go anywhere without them if they could help it. The fact that his role was about to become more public and dangerous had done nothing to deter them. Where he went they were determined to follow.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you,” Acxa said. “We will keep you safe.”

“We’ll kill them before anyone even looks at you wrong,” Zethrid said proudly, and Lotor couldn’t help the small smile he gave them for their fierce loyalty. He still sometimes didn’t understand what he’d done to deserve it, but for whatever reason, he had it. They supported him and his vision, and they were devoted to keeping him safe, now more than ever.

“Nothing’s changed,” he insisted.

“I don’t know. Seems like everything’s changed,” Ezor said thoughtfully. “You’re not just Lotor of the Blade anymore. You’re Prince Lotor of the Galra Empire, Leader of the Blade of Marmora. That doesn’t sound like nothing’s changed to me.”

Narti’s tail flicked. Sassy’s markings flashed.

_Your Highness_.

“I thought of all of you, you would side with me, Narti.”

Narti smiled and Sassy snickered.

It was relaxing to speak like this, but the light-hearted banter faded as the sight of the Castle of Lions appeared in their view. Since working with Voltron, he’d only seen the castle from a distance. He hadn’t boarded and had left such matters to Acxa or Ezor. He hadn’t been sure how he would react to being within the Castle of Lions again, for good or bad. He had no choice now, but it would be different this time. He knew who he was. He was stronger, surrounded by loyal Blades and allies.

Allies who had seen the creature he’d once been.

The hanger opened and Lotor focused on guiding the transport in instead of the way his chest was twisting. The sensation left him feeling anything other than princely, but he bore through it. He agreed with Kolivan. This was necessary. It was … time.

Princess Allura and her Paladins – all of them, including a miraculously returned Shiro – were waiting for him already, and as the others prepared to disembark, he took a slow breath. Steadied his nerves. Reached for the soothing press of silence if only for one brief moment to ease his emotions and find that inner peace he’d worked hard to find in The Way. Then he stood.

The universe waited and he would do his part. And he would do it with his head raised.

Narti opened the hatch for him, and Lotor calmly walked out, meeting Princess Allura and her Paladins for the first time without his mask since returning from The Way.

In a lot of ways, it was as if they were all meeting each other for the first time.

He’d been prepared for the staring. Even within the safe confines of the Blade, he could barely walk down a hall without Blades staring, stopping, bowing. The reaction he got from the Paladins of Voltron however was purely because he looked different from the wraith he’d been when he’d left them. Muscle layered his body, filling out what had been little more than a living skeleton. A hundred deca-phoebs had caused his hair to grow long, perhaps longer than Princess Allura’s. He stood taller. His movements were smooth and strong. His color was healthy, and aside from some persistent scarring he might never lose around his scalp, he might as well have been a new man.

The only thing which hadn’t changed were his eyes.

“There’s no way,” Lance said, the first to break the silence once he’d stopped before them, waiting for … well, he wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. “You can’t be Dumah.”

A cool chill slid down his spine. “That’s not my name. Not anymore. I’d kindly ask that you please not use it again.”

“Not your name? Buddy, I don’t even know _who_ you are. It’s only been a few months! There’s no way Dumah turned into you. No offense.”

“No, Lance is right,” Pidge agreed. “Whoever you are, there’s no way you’re who we thought you were. You’re so … healthy. And your hair! It grew that much in that short amount of time? Impossible.”

Keith stared at him, lips pressed thin, arms crossed. Then he sighed, making his decision. “I think it’s him. After all the crazy things that’ve happened, I’m not discounting anything. It _is_ hard to believe though.”

“It is,” Shiro agreed, frowning. “But then, I can’t exactly talk. We still don’t know what happened to me or how the Galra got me again. I’ve learned that sometimes the impossible is, unfortunately, possible.”

“Well, I’m convinced.” Hunk grinned at him. “Sure, he looks different, but come on. It’s obviously him. Even if he can talk now. And he’s healthy, and you know, a Blade.” He gave him a thumbs up. “I don’t know what you did, but you look good! Guess the Blade of Marmora has some pretty great healthcare.”

Lotor couldn’t help the small smile that crept out of him. “Thank you, Hunk.”

“And _that_!” Lance continued. “Dumah couldn’t talk when he left.”

Lotor thought of Geeva. He thought of The Way, and all the healing that had taken place since then.

“A lot has happened, Lance.”

“I’d say,” Coran said as he continued to study him. “This is nothing short of a miracle!”

“And I’m sure you can explain it,” Princess Allura finally said, her eyes hard and face composed. “That is what you promised you would do, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” he said slowly, the part he was dreading most finally at hand. “I did promise.”

Lotor wasn’t sure what he expected her to do. Scowl at him. Smile at him. Yell at him. Ultimately she ignored him, but he wasn’t going to complain. Princess Allura led them out of the hanger and toward a conference room. Zethrid and Ezor took positions outside of the room while Acxa and Narti found spots within. The Paladins took up seats around the table with Princess Allura as its natural head. Lotor sat opposite them, as seemed fitting.

He took a breath, straightened, then gestured to them.

“Your questions.”

There was a tiny pause as the Paladins glanced at each other. Then they all spoke at once.

They asked him how he got his voice back. He explained that he’d found a skilled healer who’d been able to repair the damage.

“But that was quintessent scarring,” Coran exclaimed. “There’s no way anyone could fix that!”

“My healer did,” he replied with a fond smile. “She healed many things.”

“But how?” Princess Allura asked. “This, what has happened to you, this is more than just a small amount of healing. This is _recovery_. How is this possible?”

A good diet. Steady schedule. Peaceful environment. Sleep, exercise, and a great deal of talk therapy. These were his answers and they weren’t lies, though he refused to go into detail. He may agree that it was time to reveal himself, and he did trust Princess Allura and Team Voltron. They were succeeding in the battle against the Galra Empire. They were true allies.

But he could not talk about anything which might even in the smallest way endanger the colony. His existence the last five thousand deca-phoebs had revolved around its safety, and no matter how much he trusted them, until he was sure it was safe – _truly safe_ – for the colony, the very idea of talking even indirectly about them would not hold in his mind.

Lotor knew they weren’t buying it, at least, not all of it, but when it became clear that this was the story he was telling and refusing to budge on, there wasn’t much more they could do other than accept it.

Princess Allura clearly did not like this and questioned him harder than Lance did, and Lance appeared to be on a quest to prove that Lotor was not at all who he claimed to be. But every time she asked him about things that had happened to him as Dumah, things only she or the Paladins would know, he had the answer ready, if reluctant.

“Of course I remember,” he said when Lance demanded he tell him what had happened after they’d removed his muzzle. “I ripped out the stitches binding my lips together so I could taste water for the first time.”

He had not missed the way Acxa’s eyes had widened or the way Narti and Sassy had stilled. He’d never told them what had happened after he’d been rescued by Princess Allura and Voltron. Only Geeva knew what had happened. It made him uneasy, just like the entire situation was. In the scope of things, it still hadn’t been so long ago that it had happened for him.

“And what about when—?”

Lotor frowned and lifted his hand before making it spark with quintessence. The others shrank away. He noticed Princess Allura’s back stiffen.

Point made, he let the energy go and glanced away.

“I hope you don’t mind if that’s proof enough of who I am, Lance. I’d rather not revisit the horrors I’ve experienced if I can help it.”

“Oh, right,” Lance said slowly, taken aback. “Right, I—sorry.”

“It’s quite all right,” he said, even if it wasn’t really. “I understand the need to verify. The circumstances are strange, I know, but this is merely the work of a brilliant and talented healer. I am exactly who I say I am, I promise you.”

“You say your name is Lotor,” Princess Allura said. “That’s not who you said you were when you left.”

Lotor didn’t know why he said this, but the words filled the air all the same.

“Would you prefer I still be that person?”

His voice had been soft, unaccusatory, but her eyes widened, and she stumbled over her words.

“I-no! No, of course not. That’s not what I meant—”

“I know that’s not what you meant,” he said kindly before he sighed. Perhaps it was time now to tell her — them all — the real truth he’d come here to share. He’d given them the answers they asked for, but not the one they needed to hear. “And perhaps I am being unfair, because I’m not the same person I was when I left either. I changed.”

“So who are you then?” Princess Allura asked. “If not Dumah, then a Blade of Marmora? An ally? A friend still?”

“Of course,” he said. “I never stopped supporting you.”

“But you left—”

“You wanted me to leave.”

She stared. They all stared. Finally she said, “I never told you to leave.”

She hadn’t, that much was true. And while her actions had spoken quite loudly, there had been other reasons driving his decision, and it was important that he own up to them as well.

“Of course, Princess. But after what I’d done, I also could not stay. So I left. I left to heal and find out what had happened to me. Who I once was.”

“And?” she asked after a moment, the silence in the room thick. “Did you figure it out? Or is Lotor just another name you’re using.”

Her question stung, perhaps more than he cared to admit because some days it seemed that yes, he _was_ just using the name. He’d been Dumah almost as long as he’d been Lotor. In truth sometimes he wasn’t sure, deep down.

But the universe could not afford any doubt now.

“I did,” he replied, forcing himself to hold her eyes. She was the Princess of Altea. She deserved as much from him.

Especially if they were to be political equals in the future.

“Lotor is my name,” he carried on. “But it is not my full title.”

Princess Allura stared at him, confusion and the hard line of her anger visible in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

He looked at her, this woman who had saved him from Haggar and the Galra Empire, who’d helped him start healing, helped him grow, helped him begin remembering who he was, and knew that the words he said next would change everything between them. More than anything he didn’t want them to. If he didn’t say them, she might still look at him with that same tenderness she once had when he’d been little more than a shadow of himself.

If he didn’t say them though, and she found out from someone else — and he knew she would — she would _never_ forgive him.

So Lotor said them.

“My name is Prince Lotor,” he said before forcing the rest of it out, damning himself with the truth. “And I am the son of Emperor Zarkon and the Altean scientist, Honerva.”

If he’d thought he’d ensured tense silences before in his life … well, he had. There had been many worse than this and he could not discount them. But there was a tension in the air that was utterly unique to this situation. Perhaps it was because he remembered now. He knew.

Or maybe it was everything to do with the woman before him.

“You’re,” Princess Allura breathed, a hand over her mouth as she stared at him, an amalgam of emotions crossing her face in a whirlwind he couldn’t decipher. “You’re his _son?_ Zarkon’s son?”

Those few words broke the strange hold of silence over them and the Paladins all but roared. What did he mean? Emperor _Zarkon_ , Zarkon? Did the Blade know? How long had he known?

“There’s no way you’re, you know, wrong?” Lance asked, and Lotor’s jaw clenched.

“This isn’t something I’d joke about.”

“You can’t blame me, can you? I mean, he’s a monster, and you’re, well …”

He arched a brow, his temper cooling, and in the back Narti’s tail swayed. Sassy’s eyes narrowed.

“And I’m?”

The new Red Paladin seemed to understand the corner he’d talked himself into and glanced away. “Nothing. I didn’t mean that.”

It didn’t matter if he meant it or not, the words were out. He was the son of Zarkon, and on top of that, he was lost royalty. It changed a great deal of things for them, the Blade, the Coalition, the Galra Empire, the universe.

“Who else knows?” Princess Allura demanded. “The Blade, clearly. But who else?”

“Just you,” he replied. “I’ve waited as long as I could to avoid sharing the truth. I do not want this, but it is my burden. Its time I bear it.”

“Hardly,” she snapped. “Do you think the universe is ready for the son of Zarkon? They won’t see you as a positive thing. Emperor Zarkon has been weakened, and a lost prince of the Galra Empire suddenly appears to seize the throne?”

His eyes hardened. “I do not want to seize the throne. I want to dethrone him, that’s true, but taking it for myself has never been my goal.”

“Then what is? All I see are ways this benefits you in the end. Why else would you suddenly come forward like this? Did you know all along? Was us finding you, me _freeing_ you, just some sort of elaborate game?”

“You think him being slave to Zarkon’s _witch_ was something he wanted?” Acxa suddenly interjected, back straight and voice hard as she glowered angrily. “You think five thousand deca-phoebs of torture was all a ploy to … what? Become Emperor himself?”

“I have to agree, Allura,” Shiro said. “You know just as much as we do that he didn’t fake the state we found him. You can’t fake torture or trauma.” His eyes darkened with discomfort. “Not like that.”

Princess Allura glared at her fellow Paladin and didn’t say a word more, but it didn’t matter. The very fact that she’d asked something like that had struck a chord deep within himself, and he struggled to keep it under control. She didn’t know the full truth about why he’d forgotten.

But it stung that those times they’d spent together before he’d left for The Way were now tainted and in question.

“What I want, Princess Allura,” he said, speaking above the din of conversation to set the matter straight. “Is the same thing I’ve always wanted. To help you and Voltron take back the universe and stop Zarkon’s reign of terror. I want the universe to be a safe place for all, so nothing like what has happened to so many others – like what happened to me or Shiro – happens to anyone else _ever_ again. That is what I want.” His resolve swelled within him, strong and crystalized. “That is _all_ I’ve ever wanted.”

She stared at him. The entire room stared at him. At some point he’d risen to his feet, his voice had gotten louder, and the calm he’d tried so hard to keep hold of was there only by some impossible grace. It was a struggle, but he forced himself to relax. To take his seat again and regain what should have been unwavering princely control.

“I want nothing more than that, Princess,” he finally said, tone cooling. “To help you succeed. That’s all.”

“Perhaps it would be best if we adjourned for the time being?” Coran said, taking the moment to slice through the tension. “Princess, what do you think—?”

Princess Allura was already up and out of her seat, out of the room before Coran had a chance to say another word. Lance was quick on her heels, and Keith left but surprised him with a hard stare before nodding slowly.

“I get it,” was all he said, and Lotor supposed that perhaps he did. After all, Keith was half-Galra as well, only the Paladin didn’t have the burden of knowing who his Galran parent was.

Shiro also rose to his feet but paused long enough to give him a look of understanding. “We’ll figure this out. I’m just glad you’re all right. After everything that’s happened, she’s been worried.”

Lotor frowned. He’d heard about Shiro’s miraculous return and had no doubt that that was part of what the Black Paladin was referencing.

“It’s a good thing she has had all of you, then,” he said.

Shiro gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Some days, it didn’t seem like it was enough.”

The Black Paladin left, and Lotor didn’t know what to say to that.

“So … you’re really a prince?” Hunk said after a moment. “Sorry, I’m just adjusting. I can’t believe it. I mean, _Zarkon._ We all know he’s as bad as it gets, but to do what he did to you, letting what happened to you happen—”

“It’s unspeakable,” Pidge finished with a look of sympathy. “I know that after all of that, it doesn’t amount to much, but like Shiro said, I’m glad you’re here and you’re better. I don’t know what you did or how you did it or who helped you do it, but it’s obvious to everyone that you’re legitimately better. And after where you were? That’s good.”

“Thank you, Pidge,” he said, the tight knot in his chest relaxing, if slightly.

The rest of the Paladins left him alone, and Zethrid and Ezor took the opportunity to come in.

“So what did they say?” Ezor asked. “Did they believe you?”

“The Princess questioned him,” Acxa said as she crossed her arms, glancing away. Her lips were a tight line across her face. “Was bold enough to insinuate that his time in servitude to Haggar had been intentional.”

Zethrid’s mouth dropped before a fierce glower transformed it. “You can’t be serious! After all of this, she has the gall too—!”

“Enough,” Lotor said, cutting the brewing war building in his strongest Blade down before she decided to take matters into her own hands, as she was prone to do from time to time. “It’s a shock for them.”

_And they don’t know_ , Sassy’s marks flashed for Narti. As diplomatic as her words were, she was no less agitated. Her arms were crossed tight across her chest and her tail swayed restlessly.

But she had a point and it was one they were all forced to concede to. The Paladins did not know the full story, so of course they reacted this way.

“Were they all like that though?” Ezor finally asked. “I mean, I guess I kind of get why she might say that, but all the Paladins?”

“No, most of them seemed to take the news as well as can be expected,” Acxa said. “The blue one, however, seems resistant, but the rest do not seem to harbor any ill will.”

“That’s how Lance is,” Lotor sighed before he rose to his feet. “I believe, however, that they will come around — all of them.”

“So what now?” Zethrid asked, calmed for the moment, but clearly disappointed.

“That’s to be decided,” he replied. “Now that I’ve come forth and told them who I am, we will need to discuss what we will do with this information, not only for the Blade and Voltron, but the whole Coalition. We will have to take care about what we do next. We can’t afford for Zarkon and Haggar to find out, not yet.”

Zethrid sighed and rolled her eyes but said nothing more. Frankly, he was relieved the princess hadn’t decided to put him under any sort of surveillance. It seemed he was free to move about the castle for the time being.

And he found he wanted to.

Much to his team’s chagrin, he told them that, since this was the Castle of Lions and as safe a place as could be found outside of the Blade’s base, he did not need them to shadow his every move. They disagreed but left him alone — though he had the distinct feeling that at least one of them was tailing him at all times, which he supposed he couldn’t blame them for. But he wanted the space. A little breathing room. He wanted to let the silence in and remember, if only a little.

Lotor thought he’d wander old paths he’d taken when he’d been here, visit the places he’d favored most, but soon he found himself in a small, unused galley with a brilliant view of space beyond. He’d been here a time or two when he’d still been Dumah, but he hadn’t thought much about it then. Now, however, there was something about the simple, enclosed space with its expansive view of the whole universe beyond that settled his sore heart. The silence here was gentle and contemplative, and he thought Geeva would have liked this.

Ignoring the plush seats available, Lotor stood close to the window and stared out the glass and at the universe beyond. He remembered doing this when he’d been here before, still and silent, gazing at the terror and majesty of existence right before his eyes. It had been so much for him then, still new to freedom. After so long spent in the quantum abyss he’d have thought such sensations would have lost their intensity, but here he was, still struck by the beauty.

The door opened and the gentle scent of flowers curled into the air. He closed his eyes and was torn between savoring the scent, and the likely reality of what it meant. Chances were it would be the last time, or perhaps quite a while, before he scented them again.

“You’ve changed so much,” Princess Allura said as she slowly walked up to stand beside him. “But after everything, I know it’s you if only by how you stare out like that.”

“What is it like?” he asked. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Not yet. Reality would come then, and he was not ready. Not yet.

“Like you’ve found something incredible,” she replied quietly. “Something you never thought you’d find. Something that never existed.”

“I never thought I _would_ see anything like this,” Lotor admitted, eyes still dancing across the stars. “For a long time, perhaps I thought such beauty wasn’t real at all. I forgot so much. It was hard to learn how much I’d forgotten when my life had become little more than that small cell they kept me in, Princess. That, and the atrocities Haggar forced me to commit.”

The Altean Princess didn’t respond to that, but she drew closer so they were separated by a few feet. He couldn’t help but study her, discreetly. He’d seen her many times since returning from The Way, that was true, but he hadn’t had the time, alone with her like this, to actually take her in.

Lotor saw he wasn’t the only one who’d changed. When last he’d seen her, the light in her eyes had been brighter. The circles under them now were heavier, darker, and he couldn’t remember her wearing her hair up as much as she now did. She wore armor now, and she wore it with a familiarity that spoke to the lengths she’d had to go, the sacrifices she was willing to make, to ensure that Voltron succeeded against his father. She looked paler. Slightly thinner from too much exercise and not enough sleep and food. Princess Allura looked like a warrior. One the universe deserved.

And he supposed the tense look she gave him now was also deserved.

“Why didn’t you tell me when you left?” she asked again, her voice cooler from the aggression before. “If we did anything to make you feel unwelcome, Du … Lotor, it wasn’t our intent. My intent.” She frowned before adding, “I didn’t want you to leave.”

Weariness clung to his eyes. He chose his words carefully. “You saw what Haggar made me do. With just two words, Princess. You’d freed me, you’d helped me begin healing, there was, and still is, nothing I wouldn’t do for you to keep you safe. And yet Haggar activated me with a command she’d spent five thousand deca-phoebs perfecting. I was not in control, and I tried to kill you. I tried to kill Kolivan. And you saw.”

The unspoken phrase followed after, that she’d also flinched from him after finding out. But he couldn’t make himself say it. That would be little more than cruelty.

“It was never my intent to push you away,” Princess Allura finally said, and he could see that perhaps this was at the heart of her discontent. She knew she’d reacted poorly, and he’d left as a direct result of that. But it would also be unfair to place all of the blame on her. That simply wasn’t the truth. He looked away.

“I know,” he said. “But I think, after that, I _wanted_ to go as well. I was a danger to you and the Paladins. If she could do that to me so easily, what else could she do? So … I left.”

“You could have told me,” she insisted.

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “At the time, I thought it best to simply vanish. Easier to get out of your hair, so to speak, and Kolivan suggested the Blade.” Unable to stop himself, he smiled at her. “But it seems as if you did not need me around anyway. You’ve become a Paladin of Voltron yourself, and you’ve been defending the universe passionately.”

A surprising, small smile, tender but real slipped onto the edge of her lips.

“But didn’t you think that perhaps I would miss my friend?”

Lotor stared at her. He’d missed her – he’d missed her dearly – but perhaps as a form of self-punishment he’d let himself believe that she would not have missed him at all. She’d seen him at his most monstrous, that would be enough for anyone, he would not blame her, and hadn’t in the least. But he’d never let himself hope that perhaps she had missed him too. That she’d thought about their friendship as much as he had.

“I thought … I thought I was not worthy, Princess,” he finally admitted. He turned to her and gave her the same smile she’d given him, tentative and a touch sad. “You were willing to give up everything to defeat Haggar and destroy Zarkon, and no matter how much I wanted to support you, in the end I was Haggar’s weapon again. I was ashamed.” A soft chuckle slipped out of him, and he stared out at the stars because he could not let her see the depths of his pain. “I have so much to be ashamed of.”

And with that one comment he reminded her of their earlier conversation. Who his father was. She frowned, and he knew that this quiet moment between them hadn’t settled any of her thoughts about him and who he truly was. He suspected that perhaps there was nothing he could do to fix that rift, and that was fine.

All he wanted in the universe was to help her defeat the Galra Empire and ushered in an era of peace. He just wanted her to see that and understand. And then afterword, if she saw fit, he would stand before her and let her judge all of the crimes he committed. But only after the mission was done.

“Princess Allura—”

“I’m sorry, I just—” her eyes clenched and she shook her head. “I can’t. Not right now.”

Lotor frowned, but he’d expected this. It was a lot to take in. It had taken him deca-phoebs to come to terms with, and it was little surprise she behaved as she did now. He did not blame her. Least of all her.

“I understand,” he said before giving her a small bow. “If you’ll excuse me, I will meet with you and your Paladins later to discuss further missions between your team and the Blade.”

Lotor turned on his heel, every action careful and composed, but before he reached the door, her voice called out.

“Wait.”

He paused. “Princess?”

“Why … why didn’t you tell me?” she asked again, but this time he knew she was asking about something completely different. Princess Allura avoided his eyes. “You’ve been working with us for some time now, and you never once said—it was only after you were forced to reveal yourself that this happened. Would you have ever told me?”

Lotor contemplated his answer. It was the same one he’d thought about every time he’d worked with her as an anonymous Blade. He could tell her anything. He settled for the truth.

“I am the son of Zarkon,” he said softly. “Can you blame me for hating that fact as much as you do?” His eyes lowered, and he couldn’t stop the pained smile that pulled at him. “Can you blame me for wanting to support you after everything you did for me, without you thinking I’m even more of a monster than I am?”

“Dumah—”

“Lotor, please,” he said, catching her eyes. “That is my name, Princess.”

He waited for her to say something else, but it seemed she was at a loss for words.

Lotor left.

* * *

Lotor was on his way to the kitchen to find Hunk and ask about dinner and what the Paladin might make — truthfully he’d missed the human’s food, no matter how simplistic it had been for him. He wanted to try a true meal from him, but before he could make it there, Acxa appeared, kneeling and head bowed.

The sight of her was not so surprising, but her position was. Formal. Important. She had news.

Something had happened.

“What is it?” he demanded, the mantle of authority settling on his shoulders in an instant. “What has happened?”

“Ezor just got word, but … they know.” She looked up at him, face tense and eyes hard. “The Galra Empire _knows_.”

A chill that started in his bones rippled out to every muscle, and he swallowed. It didn’t matter that the Castle of Lions was safe and that he was accompanied by his team. That he was in control of himself. That he was powerful and strong in his own right and could defend himself. This news tore through all of that. He felt exposed, like the eyes of monsters had looked out across the universe and found him standing in this spot.

He felt vulnerable.

“You’re sure,” he said. “There’s no mistake?”

“Three of our spies just separately confirmed,” she said. “They know.”

Lotor’s fists clenched, mind racing. This changed things. He’d thought he’d have time to ease his way into this, but now that he knew, there were decisions that had to be made, and soon. Decisions about the Blade and the Coalition. Decisions about Voltron. Decisions about the colony and its protection and Sincline and his plans beyond, and that wasn’t even taking into account the new mystery of _how_ the Empire had found out. Now nothing was safe. No one around him was safe. Because now that _somehow_ the Galra knew, it was only a matter of time before the hunters and assassins Haggar had sent would begin vying for his life with vigor, intent on stopping him and the reality of what his existence meant.

This should have been the silver lining. They thought he was a threat, threat enough that three separate Blade spies had reported in. This was unforeseen and nothing he had planned for, but he needed to take advantage of the situation, and quickly.

But all that filled his mind was one fact. Not that he’d been found. Not that they knew the witch’s weapon had resurfaced.

No. It was worse than all of that because they _knew._

They knew he’d at last decided to come forward as Prince Lotor, heir to the Galra Empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Lotor. You really can't ever catch a break.
> 
> Until Thursday!


	17. The Blitz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, this chapter is a bit transitional and not super new or exciting, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway :]

Lotor left again, but this time he told Princess Allura he was leaving.

“And you’re sure?” she asked, her voice tense. “You only just told us. How could they possibly know?”

“I don’t know,” he said, keeping his thoughts to himself because while important there were other more pressing matters. “But the reports came from three separate sources. I have no doubt that, however they found out, they are certain.” Lotor glanced down at his royal armor. “They know I’ve reclaimed my title.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Princess Allura sighed. They were in the galley of the ship with the view of the universe overlaid with tactical halos and tentative battle plans. “And what will they do now? The universe believes you’re dead and have been for thousands of deca-phoebs.”

“The universe thought you were dead for much longer, and yet here you are, with Zarkon hunting you with every resource he possesses,” he countered. “I suspect it will be much the same, given how problematic I made myself before I was captured. Not to mention I have a legitimate claim to the throne. He won’t like that.” Lotor sighed softly. “I suspect his priority will be to kill me before I can gather forces of my own enough to combat him. Victory or death.”

The saying left his mouth sick and sour.

“You don’t have to do this,” she reasoned. “The less who know about you, the safer you’ll be.”

“If I’d wanted to stay safe, I’d have never joined the Blade. I’d have vanished and never looked back.” Her lips pressed into a frown. “But I knew, once my memories returned, that it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. That they would inevitably find out. I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon, but perhaps it’s unsurprising. This merely … limits my usefulness as a player in the game. I’m not sure there’s much I can do now, and that’s even if the universe finds value in what I can provide. I am the son of Zarkon after all.”

“They’ll learn. Everyone will,” she said absently, and he sidled a glance her way but refused to let his thoughts wander. Her fingers gently tapped her lips, and it made him inwardly smile a little. Princess Allura liked to do that when she was thinking. “Another player on the field.”

Her hands abruptly lifted and the map around them changed. He watched it without comment, giving her time to think her idea through before she finally seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. Crystalline-blue eyes glanced at him as her lips pressed thin.

“This … might not be a bad thing. We can use this to our advantage,” she said slowly. “How certain are you that Zarkon and Haggar will search for you?”

“Quite certain,” he admitted. “Even before they captured me the first time, I was a very irritating thorn in their side. Now that I’m free and well-versed in the art of quintessent combat, I doubt they’ll let a rebellious lost prince of the Galra do as he pleases.”

“I suspected that might be the case,” Princess Allura said. She appeared conflicted, but Lotor thought he understood what she was getting at.

“My presence could be advantageous,” he agreed, picking up on her idea as he studied the map. “The Coalition needs time to move and gain ground to rally more worlds to the cause. It would be easier if Zarkon and Haggar were distracted I could provide the distraction.”

“As convenient as that would be, I can’t ask you to do that.” A heavy sigh swelled out of her, and she gave him a tight look. “Not after everything they put you through. It’s too much to ask.”

He smiled at her, charmed by her concern. “Thank you, Princess. But if I can do anything to give the Coalition what it needs, to give Voltron time to grow stronger, then I will do it. Without hesitation.”

“But aren’t you worried about what might happen? If, for some unspeakable reason, they take you again? I couldn’t ask you to put yourself in harm’s way like that.”

“You don’t have to ask. Princess,” he said simply. “I survived them once. I am much stronger now, but if the worst happens and I am captured again — though how that might happen given everyone’s relentless need to protect me, I cannot say — it will still never be worse than it was when I was Haggar’s slave.”

“How could you possibly say that?” she whispered, more bothered than he’d seen her in a long time. “How could you possibly know?”

Lotor smiled at her, unable to hide the tenderness he felt for her though he was sure she did not see it.

“Because Princess. This time, I know you will be there to save me again.”

Her eyes rose, crystal-blue wide with surprise. He couldn’t help but tease her.

“Won’t you?”

“Of course, don’t be stupid!” Her cheeks reddened and she looked away, a stern pout on her lips that was more charming than before. “I’d never let that witch get her hands on you again. I’d come after you immediately.”

“Then I have no worries, Princess,” he told her softly, sobering. “I will make my presence known, and make it clear who I support and let them do the work. It will just be a matter of evasion. And believe me when I say I am well motivated to succeed.”

She didn’t look convinced or particularly pleased by his willingness, but the decision was made because strategically it was the right one. He would never say he was happy or comfortable with the idea, but this was war. This was what he could do, so this is what he _would_ do.

The next quintant, Lotor sent out a message to the far corners of the universe, as far as it would reach.

He was the lost Galran Prince, Lotor. The Galran High Priestess had kept him enslaved and captive for over five thousand deca-phoebs and he’d been saved by Princess Allura and the Voltron Paladins. He was back, once more, powerful and strong.

And he fought Emperor Zarkon, his father, at the side of Princess Allura and Voltron.

Everything changed.

* * *

“So this is the plan,” Kolivan said where he, Kolivan, and Keith stood in conference with the Voltron Paladins. “The blitz.”

“Yes,” Shiro said, lightyears away aboard the Castle of Lions. “If this plan succeeds, we’ll be able to take back a third of Galra-controlled territory, a major victory for the Coalition. This might be the only chance we have, and I believe with the Coalitions forces pooled as they are now, we are strong enough to do this.”

Lotor’s heart raced in his chest because he _agreed_. He’d seen and examined all the data. He’d helped fine-tune several aspects of the plan, but to see it placed before them, outlined into something legitimately possible, it felt like the universe was on the brink of revolution. Like potential was there for the taking if they were ready to take it.

Lotor believed, for the first time in ten thousand deca-phoebs, that they were.

“We will be ready,” Lotor said after a silent glance at Kolivan, who also gave a short nod. “We will need some time on our end, but we will be ready.”

“We’ll stay in touch,” Kolivan agreed. The conference was over and at the last moment, his and Princess Allura’s eyes caught. He wondered if she would say something to him before the transmission ended.

The screen cut to black.

Slightly disappointed, Lotor ignored it and turned to Kolivan. “It’s a good plan.”

“I agree. Coordinated. Well-organized.” The Galra eyed him. “The question, however, is what your role in the blitz will be.”

Lotor had anticipated this, and he couldn’t say he blamed his right-hand Blade. Since making a very public and very open stand against his father, Lotor’s safety and actions had been of utmost concern to the Blade, much to Lotor’s chagrin.

“You’ve poked the proverbial hive,” Kolivan said not long after his announcement.

“It works to our favor,” he’d argued. “They’ll be looking for me, and if they find me, they will wish they hadn’t.”

“When I’d recommended you go forward, I hadn’t anticipated you’d announce yourself and your intentions to the universe at large the first day of your decision. The Blade isn’t prepared to handle this sort of fallout.”

“It’s not supposed to,” Lotor agreed. “The Blade has its mission. That’s to help Voltron and take down the Galra Empire. It’s not to protect me.”

Kolivan’s lips had thinned, but Lotor was right. He’d understood that the Blade was reluctant to put him in any position which might result in his death or recapture after finally getting him back. But when it came down to a contest between his life or that of the universe, there was no contest.

There had been points he’d conceded to which Kolivan would not budge on, mostly because he suspected anything less would have caused a riot. Acxa, Narti, Ezor and Zethrid would stay with him as his personal team and bodyguards, and they would provide any security he might need. In the meantime, he would do what he could to draw Zarkon and Haggar’s attention away from the battlefront where Voltron and the Coalition would be working, while at the same time completing the work needed on two of the nearly finished Sincline ships.

And it had worked. It had worked brilliantly.

His first assassination attempt since his declaration had happened only two quintants later while he was helping liberate a small moon. Narti had caught the would-be assassin and forced them to tell them what she knew. Galra were after him. Hired assassins were after him. Druids.

“You’re going to die soon,” she’d scoffed. “Even the Emperor is after you. It’s only a matter of time—”

Narti forced her under. Lotor had looked at his team, and though he was not happy about this, he gave them a small smile.

“Well. I think we’re off to a good start.”

Ezor and Zethrid had chuckled back then, but soon they were as straight-faced as Acxa when their lives were spent constantly hunted and on the run. They couldn’t stay in one place longer than it took to complete a mission, which was a shame because what Lotor wanted to do most was work on diplomacy. Help those he’d liberated see that he and the Blade were there to help. But it was never long after they arrived somewhere that some enterprising individual would begin shooting at them, or a Galra cruiser would appear and they’d have to move quickly.

There was one moment that had been tighter than the others. It was after one of their visits to Sincline’s construction base, and admittedly he’d let his guard down, feeling safe. He’d been in an ancient library, researching a solution to some atmospheric fallout when he’d felt the tug of quintessence an instant before lightning snapped to life. Instinct and ingrained training made him twist space to safety instantly, and he was not pleased in the least to see a Druid staring at him, ready to end his life.

“Hello, Slave,” the Druid said, and Lotor’s rage turned icy. Silence bore through him as he’d narrowed his eyes, but where he’d once been made to be silent, now he had a choice.

And he’d chosen to speak.

“That’s not my name, Druid,” he’d said before he’d drawn his swords and lifted his chin. “And you’d do well never to say it again.”

The Druid _had_ said it again. Lotor then ensured they _never_ said another word again. And he’d done it without the use of his quintessence.

“She will find you,” the Druid said on the brink of death. “She owns you.”

“She does not,” he said firmly. “I will never be owned again.”

But despite the hunters that attempted to find and track him, despite the manhunt the Galra Empire was wasting their efforts on, he and his team always stayed ahead. It never ceased to bring him a great deal of satisfaction when he heard Zarkon was furious. That Haggar was pressing harder.

His distractions had paid off, and now he could see that. Voltron had been able to take nearly an entire belt of territory and completing the belt would ensure that a third of the universe would be safe from the Galra Empire once they broke the chain. He’d helped make that happen.

And now the blitz.

“With this sort of operation, we will need the full force of the Blade,” Kolivan said.

“Agreed,” Lotor replied, but now that the plan had been explained, he was thinking. All of this had a high chance of working, but there were points now that he couldn’t overlook. Nagging ideas that refused to quiet down. Something about Naxzela. “I do not think I will be able to participate as a member of the ground team.”

Kolivan stared. “Prince Lotor—”

“I would,” he said. “You know I would. But … I have a bad feeling about this. There’s something about Naxzela that I’m uncertain about. I think it would be better if we have another force waiting, just in case.”

“You mean Sincline,” Kolivan said, realization settling on him, eyes widening. “It’s ready?”

“Two of the three, more or less. And yes, it’s as powerful as I’ve implied.”

The Galra hummed. “Even if you left now, do you think you could make it there and back in time for the blitz?”

“I believe so. It’s faster than you’d believe, and I doubt either Zarkon or Haggar would see this coming.”

At least, he hoped they wouldn’t. They’d still yet to find the leak which had told Zarkon and Haggar about his resurgence, but despite deliberate attempts to lure them out, the Empire knew nothing else.

“But do you think we need it?”

Lotor took a moment to really consider before he nodded, certain. “I know Haggar, and I know Zarkon. We need Sincline for this. Even if it’s only to feel safe.”

“We cannot spare your team for this mission, Prince Lotor,” Kolivan said. “We need our best.”

“Then take my team,” Lotor said. “You’re right. We’ll need our best if we’re to take the zaiforge cannons. _You_ will need them. You’ll need your best.”

“You are our best,” Kolivan pressed. Lotor smiled at him.

“No. You and the Blade, you are the best, and I have no doubt of your success. I merely do not trust Haggar, and I want something strong and powerful in the wings.”

The Galra frowned. “Sincline’s is our trump card. Once they know about it, there is no going back,” Kolivan argued. “We cannot afford to waste it.”

“If we only use one of the ships, we will keep our advantage. But the fact remains that we cannot afford for this mission to fail,” Lotor countered, his tone final. “Go. I will follow.”

Kolivan sighed, his professional disposition turning grim.

“We cannot afford to lose you again.”

Lotor smiled, seeing at last where Kolivan’s true concern lay.

“You won’t.”

So he left less than a varga later after having endured his team’s scolding and making him swear not to get caught or die while he was gone. It took time for him to get to Sincline’s construction outpost, but he’d moved quickly, arriving ahead of time. Although he wished he felt comfortable piloting both completed ships on his own, it would be overkill and he didn’t want to reveal everything just yet. One of the Sincline ships would work.

He prayed it would work.

While he traveled back, he kept an ear on the comms. Sincline was advanced enough that it could pick up on transmissions from both the Galra and the Coalition, and he listened intently, determined to understand the tide of the battle as best he could despite not being there himself. He was eager to get back, even to settle his nerves, Haggar had a trick up her sleeve. She _always_ did.

Lotor had been so preoccupied that he hadn’t noticed the Galra sensor, and when he looked next, it was to find several Galran Battlecruisers right behind him.

And one was Emperor Zarkon’s flagship.

The sight of it caused ice to blaze through his blood. This was the closest he’d been to his father since that day Haggar had taken him to the throne room before being assigned as Princess Allura’s guard. But now that the initial ice had hit him, it heated and burned off as rage took its place. This was Emperor Zarkon. His _father_. He was here to capture him, and he had no doubt if Zarkon did, he would be killed immediately.

And after everything that had happened, the last thing he would _ever_ do was let that happen. His teeth clenched but he uttered one word.

“No.”

And then he flew Sincline harder than he’d ever flown any ship in his life.

Admittedly it was a gamble using the star to fend off his father. He’d designed Sincline to be durable and strong given the ore it was made from, but this was the first time he’d tested its capabilities in this way. Heat tore through the cockpit from the fire of the star. Alarms blared, sweat flowed down his back, and every monitor warned him that the ship _could not_ take much more of this. He needed to pull away.

But as he’d predicted, the Galran Battleships couldn’t take the heat like Sincline could, not even Zarkon’s flagship. They were being destroyed by the star, and soon enough his father had pulled away rather than risk having his ship destroyed.

Lotor used the opportunity to race away. His heart pounded in his chest and his hands crackled slightly with quintessence. The hair at his neck stuck to him with sweat, but he was away, and he was safe.

But while he’d been escaping, the worst had happened. He’d been right. With Voltron on Naxzela, Haggar had activated a spell that locked the Voltron Paladins down there and threatened the blitz by rendering the entire planet a bomb strong enough to decimate entire solar systems. Both cannons were offline, and a Galra battlecruiser had appeared – one which seemed to be controlling what was happening on Naxzela.

He didn’t need to think too hard about who was on that battlecruiser. Not when he finally recalled that Naxzela had once been an Altean terraforming planet. One Haggar could control the quintessence of.

If he wasn’t desperate to get there in time to stop Naxzela from exploding, destroying Voltron, the Blade, the Coalition, and Princess Allura, rage now burned in him because Haggar – the _witch_ – she was there. She was doing _all_ of this.

And he had Sincline. A ship strong enough to break through the shield of the focusing module she was using to control Naxzela. A ship strong enough to destroy battlecruisers.

Not only could he break through the shield and help save the Coalition, he could also eliminate the witch as well.

But as the ticks were coming down to the wire when he had to make his choice once he was finally in range, to his horror he saw Keith – in his desperation – was about to suicide into the shield in an effort to take it down. Immediately his thoughts shifted, flowing from vengeance to a need to save, and the shot he made took out the shield and the focuser instead, saving the Red Paladin.

Unfortunately, his choice meant that a moment later the battlecruiser with the witch aboard retreated and vanished, but irritated as he was he didn’t regret his decision. Keith was safe. The Coalition was safe. Voltron was safe. Reports were coming in from both the Coalition and Galra Empire.

Together they’d done it. The Coalition had destroyed the Empire’s hold on the belt, blocking them off from a third of the universe. It was under Coalition control.

And the universe had seen him help make it happen.

* * *

His comm system was bombarded with reports, Galran, Blade, and Coalition alike, and from the mess of information he was able to sketch an idea of what had happened and how he’d come just in time to turn the tides.

As he’d expected of someone as under-handed as Haggar, she’d used her spell to activate Naxzela in order to destroy the Coalition, which was why they hadn’t been able to make it in time to destroy the battlecruisers shields themselves. Haggar had almost destroyed everything, but together they’d ensured the blitz had been wildly successful. The third of the liberated worlds that had formally been in the Galra Empire were now well on their way to freedom with rebellions roaring to life everywhere. He kept hearing reports, more and more of them. They would not stop. Assistance was being requested from corners near and far. The Blade would have so much work to do here soon. Voltron would lead the way.

But it made his heart fill with excitement and hope. They’d _done_ it. They’d taken back a third of the universe from his father. What had been nothing more than an idea almost nine thousand deca-phoebs ago was finally, _finally_ bearing fruit. He’d given up hope while slave to Haggar, but now … _now_.

Anything seemed possible.

The Castle of Lions was his first stop, a convergence spot for those of the Coalition. Kolivan was too busy coordinating Blade efforts at the moment to come, but Lotor didn’t mind checking in on their behalf. It would be brief regardless, given that he needed to return to the Blade as well, but there was time enough for this. He was relieved to see the castle bright and alive, ships drawn to it as if flocking home. He landed Sincline in the hanger, but already he could hear the sounds of celebration thick in the air. This had been a major victory.

He couldn’t wait to see what Princess Allura looked like victorious.

The halls were starting to congest at this point, and he made his way to the central galley where Coran stood in the center of the master holo-map which changed with reports in real-time. It was like watching an explosion, something beautiful and incredible before him. This had happened because of the teamwork they’d shown each other, and now a map that had once been filled with red and all the blood Zarkon and the Galra Empire had spilled was now growing blue with freedom and liberation.

Lotor understood what that felt like, and he seemed like he might burst with disbelief.

“Prince Lotor!” Coran said once he’d turned and spotted him, excitement filling his expressive face. “Can you believe it? The blitz was a success and now there are more worlds fighting the Galra than ever before. What we’ve done today has changed everything!”

“I know, Coran,” he said as he looked at the holo displayed all around them in the air. In real-time he could see everything that he’d heard on the way here. Spots that had once been red on the map were turning a pulsing yellow to indicate a rising rebellion, a call for aid, and a few of those yellow spots were turning blue before his eyes, the Galra on those worlds overcome or ejected. It was incredible. Amazing. He could hardly believe it. The hope in his chest just kept growing and growing. They could do this. They _were_ doing this.

They were really defeating Zarkon. Everything, for the first time in ten thousand deca-phoebs was finally coming together.

All because of Princess Allura and the Paladins. Voltron.

The future, one filled with peace, it was becoming more possible by the tick. It was happening. It might take another hundred deca-phoebs, a thousand, however long, but this was another growing step in the right direction.

Others were pouring in now, each waiting to speak with Coran and Lotor made his report. All the while he kept waiting to hear the roar of lions. To see the flash of Voltron. The colors of the Paladins. But either he’d come too early, or they were busy with other matters and weren’t around. Still, once he was finished, he couldn’t help but ask.

“Do you know if the Paladins will be returning soon? I must leave, but I was hoping to speak with them before I did.”

Coran gave him a small smile, and not for the first time did he think Coran knew a lot more than he was letting on.

“I’m sorry, Prince Lotor, but I can’t be sure. I think they should be back soon. Can’t be more than a few doboshes.”

Lotor frowned but shook his head and thanked Coran anyway. Although he’d been listening to Galran comms-chatter constantly and everyone knew about Voltron’s victory on Naxzela, it felt better to hear it directly from Coran that the Paladins were all safe and that Haggar’s plan had truly failed. That Princess Allura was safe. Now that he had, he couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

Not to mention, he wasn’t sure Princess Allura would approve of his concern.

The Castle of Lions was a riot of action and energy, but Lotor cut through it easily. At first he thought it was merely his baring, but he kept hearing snatches of whispered conversation as he passed. His name of course. That he was Prince Lotor of the Galra Empire.

But where he’d expected to hear anger, instead he heard wisps of admiration. That he was also either working with or the real leader of the Blade of Marmora. That he’d once been a prisoner himself of the Galra, and that Zarkon had tried to bury his existence five thousand deca-phoebs ago. That Haggar had kept him as a slave.

That he’d just saved the blitz.

It was almost a relief to make it to the hanger. Sincline was waiting and he was growing eager to leave. No doubt Acxa and the others were ready to jump out of their skin to tell him that he’d been a fool and that they would not leave his side again — especially once he told them about his run-in and escape from his father. It had been a close call, but he’d trusted his ship, and it hadn’t let him down. No doubt the rest of his team would be waiting eagerly for the third ship to be finished, that way there would be no more solo missions for him to almost get killed or captured with.

Lotor was almost to Sincline when a voice called out to him.

“Lotor, wait!”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. There wasn’t much time, he needed to get back to the Blade and have a real hand in organizing the Blade’s actions, but when he saw who called him, he decided he had time enough for this. Princess Allura moved at a quick trot and it was clear she’d just returned. Her hair was frayed and a little wild from her and Voltron’s difficult battle, and she was still in her Paladin armor, her helmet handing by her fingers.

But she was alive and well. Safe.

A tension in his chest eased.

“Princess,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’re all right.”

“Keith just told me what you did,” she said quickly, ignoring his concern. “The plan was falling apart, but you saved it.”

“I suspected Haggar might pull something,” he admitted. “I’m just glad I made it in time. Zarkon found me, and I had to outrun him. I’d have been there sooner if I’d been able.”

“Only a few phoebs ago you could barely eat,” she suddenly blurted out. “You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you could barely fight with anything other than quintessence. But now? Now you’re doing _this._ Saving us in a ship Kolivan says you built and designed—”

“Using the ore you found, Princess,” he pointed out. “I never would have been able to make it otherwise.”

“How is this possible?” Princess Allura demanded. “How are you able to do _all of this_?”

Lotor smiled. He couldn’t help it. “As I’ve said before. I had a brilliant healer.”

“It doesn’t make sense!”

He sighed. It would be like this again, it seemed. More questions and no answers to give her. Only more disappointment. If this was all, much as he enjoyed her company, he needed to get going.

“I wish I could make it make sense,” he told her. “But that really is it. A good healer and time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to return to the Blade. If you’ll contact us with any updates on the Coalitions plans, or any support the Blade can provide for you, I will, as always do whatever I can.”

Lotor turned away again, moments from boarding Sincline when a hand wrapped around his wrist. He was so startled he stilled, but when he looked her hand was gone. But unlike their usual conversations, her gaze didn’t skate away.

Princess Allura looked at him, face tight, muscles tense, but eyes misting over with tears she refused to shed.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “If it wasn’t for you, we would have lost this. The blitz wouldn’t have succeeded. We would have lost so many people. Keith. We would have lost everything.”

Surprise swept through him, and he finally understood. Lotor gave her a small smile before giving a short bow.

“It was my pleasure, Princess.”

He straightened, and for the briefest of moments, he thought that she was going to reach out again. To step forward and … well, he didn’t know.

But in the end all she did was swallow and nod before she turned on her heel and walked away. He watched her go, then pulled on his helmet, boarded Sincline, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is a good one~
> 
> See you Monday!


	18. Zarkon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for the unexpected delay, my family and I all caught covid at the same time so it's been a rough couple of weeks. Thankfully I've gotten some of my stamina back and posting should go back to normal from here on out.
> 
> Enjoy!

It wasn’t long after, while on a visit to the Castle of Lions to discuss the next wave of strategy, that they received terrible news.

“It’s Zarkon,” Pidge said, distress etched on her features. “He’s got my dad.”

And as terrible as that was, it was worse when Zarkon sent forth his declaration. A trade. Commander Holt, for Lotor.

“How dare he!” Princess Allura snarled, her hands flashing through the air of the bridge to pull forth maps and scans and tactical displays that gave them a view of the location Zarkon waited with Pidge’s father. Waiting for them to take his deal. “Don’t worry, Pidge, we will rescue your father. But we can’t trade Prince Lotor to do it—”

Lotor didn’t hear the end of her response, not when he’d already twisted space out of the room and was all but running toward the hanger. He appreciated that Princess Allura was unwilling to sacrifice him, but she did not know Zarkon like he did. She did not know Haggar and the Galra like he did. Zarkon would never play fair like this; after all, victory or death. His father wanted to weaken them, and he’d found just the spot to press by attacking Pidge and her family.

He knew better than anyone what would happen to Commander Holt if they did not agree to his father’s terms.

“Prince Lotor,” Acxa said, meeting up with him at the hanger. “You can’t be considering—!”

“I am,” he said plainly. “I will meet my father and I will accept the trade. But you know as well as I that he will never honor his end of the bargain. That is why I need the four of you to rescue Commander Holt while I provide a distraction.”

The others were gaping while Acxa said, “But Prince Lotor, this is Emperor Zarkon we’re talking about—!”

“An Emperor who is weakened and relying on the strength of his witch to keep him strong, not his own power.” Lotor lifted his chin, regarding his team. “We all know his might, none more than I. But I must do this, and I am stronger than I once was. Will you help me?”

“You know we’ll help you,” Ezor said seriously, even as concern swelled in her eyes. “We just don’t _like_ it. Who’s going to be there to cover your back? We _can’t_ let him take you.”

“And we _won’t_ let him kill you,” Zethrid growled. “I don’t like this. Take one of us with you, at least.”

“You know that won’t work,” he said. “You know what he’ll do to Commander Holt if he believes there is a threat waiting.”

“But you need someone—”

“I’ll help him,” a voice said, and Lotor was surprised to see the Black Paladin, Shiro, coming up to them, Pidge close at his heels. “We both will. Besides, I don’t think Zarkon would quite believe it if Prince Lotor went on his own. There needs to be a Paladin there for this to look real.”

“I _need_ to be there,” Pidge said, eyes fierce and relentless.

“Shiro, Pidge,” Lotor said, surprised. “No, you don’t have to help me do this.”

“We don’t have to,” Shiro agreed. “But we’re going to. Commander Holt isn’t only important to Pidge and her brother. He’d important to me too. We were on the Kerberos mission the Galra found us on. I’m _getting_ him back.”

“We’re getting him back,” Pidge said.

Lotor frowned, but he was familiar with the stern, stubborn tone that always came when the Black Paladin’s mind was made up and Pidge’s dogged tenacity. They weren’t going to change their minds about this.

“We can’t bring the Black Lion,” he said finally, conceding, and Shiro nodded.

“We won’t. But if we’re going to do this, we need to go now.”

Lotor nodded. If they didn’t leave, Princess Allura would find a way to stop them. This would work only because they were faster.

After his team reluctantly took their leave to enact their part of the plan and plant themselves where they needed to be to retrieve Commander Holt, he and the Paladins boarded a shuttle and made for the rendezvous point. The trip was a quiet affair outside of the plan they were hastily putting together. Lotor couldn’t help his tendency to drop into strict silence. He’d found others often spoke to get over their nerves. He was about to encounter his father for the first time as himself in over five thousand deca-phoebs. He needed to be ready. He needed to be as prepared as possible, and if that meant drawing hints of Dumah into himself to ensure that happened, he did it easily.

Still, as they neared the meeting place, his heart quickened despite his careful concentration. He could not afford distraction or lack of control. He _could_ not. But he still remembered how it had gone the last time he’d faced his father as Prince Lotor.

What had happened after.

Shiro settled the shuttle on the ground. Across from them in the distance sat his father’s ship. Lotor frowned and resolved to do whatever he needed to do today. Even if that was death.

But he didn’t want it to go that way.

With little else to stop him, Lotor rose to his feet, as prepared as he would ever be. According to Acxa’s quick report, his team was in place. In the event they required aide, Shiro would be quick to help while Lotor held off his father. This was the best they could do.

It felt like so little.

“Here,” Shiro said after Pidge had deboarded, lifting his hand before they exited the shuttle. “Take this.”

Lotor stared in astonishment at what was there. A bayard. The Black Paladin’s bayard.

He was bewildered.

“Shiro. Why are you offering me this?”

“You’re going to fight him,” he said. “You’ll have to. There’s no way this ends without a confrontation, and I can say from experience that you’ll need all the help you can get. You know how much he wants the Black Lion and how long he’s had this bayard. Seeing you with it? Using it? I’m willing to bet that’ll throw him off his game, which is only a good thing for you.”

Tactically, Shiro was right. The sight of it if he used it would surprise his father, perhaps enrage him. Rage was a good thing. It meant Zarkon wouldn’t be as careful. Any advantage was good.

And he _must_ win.

Lotor’s lips pressed thin, but he took the bayard in hand. With it sitting in his palm, he could feel the latent quintessence within it like he could feel it in all the lions. With a thought and an exertion of his will, he watched as it manifested itself into a wicked blade, perfectly balanced and razor-sharp.

“You got that faster than I did,” Shiro said with a wry smile. “It’s one of the few things I can think of that can stand up to Zarkon’s strength. Almost everything else we’ve thrown at him hasn’t worked.”

“Why are you doing this?” Lotor asked, glancing from the bayard to its Paladin.

“Because I’m the only one here who gets why you’re doing this,” he said, and the shadows the human usually kept hidden from sight grew longer. “We _have_ to stop him. Stop everything he’s doing to all these vulnerable people so that no one else is hurt. So they don’t have to go through what we have. The others, they get it, but they don’t _understand_ it, not like I do. We do. That’s why.”

And if there was an argument Lotor could sympathize with, it was that one above all. They’d both been slaves to the Galra Empire, differently enslaved, perhaps, but they’d both endured the worst to come out tempered and stronger because of it, even if they’d keep their scars for the rest of their lives. It was a steep price to pay, but they’d both paid it in blood, tears, and pieces of their souls.

He understood. No one should ever be forced to pay that price.

The bayard in his hand shrank down to its usual form, and Lotor tucked it out of sight. Within reach and ready when he would need it.

“Thank you, Shiro.”

The Black Paladin only nodded before nodding toward the exit.

“Ready?”

“Hardly.”

Recognizing the comment for what it was, Shiro led the way into the light of a fading afternoon. It was time.

Across the barren field stood a dark, imposing figure in black and purple, eyes blazing with unnatural light. Behind him he could see another Earthling he assumed was Commander Holt. Given the way Shiro and Pidge reacted, he assumed correctly.

“Send Lotor over,” Zarkon said.

“Send Commander Holt over first,” said Shiro.

The Earthling began moving, and with his chin held high, Lotor left. Each step was as strong and sure as he could make it. Each step felt like a step toward something permanent and deathly true, for him or his father. As he passed Commander Holt, he knew he’d been right. It was nothing more than the image of Commander Holt, he realized. Lotor tightened his jaw and took a deep breath through his nose, preparing himself. He was about to face his father.

It was time.

* * *

The fight went off the rails, as Lance would put it, but in the strangest way.

It had started exactly as he’d anticipated. Zarkon had, in fact, betrayed the Paladins in pursuit of dominance that Lotor had predicted, and so they weren’t surprised when Pidge’s body fell through the hologram of Commander Holt to reveal the deception. It wasn’t ideal, but they’d been prepared for it, and he knew his team was practically at the ship, even as it threatened to pull away. Zarkon was reveling in his successful deception and the idea that he had won.

That was when Lotor made his move.

Using the bayard Shiro had given him, he began to fight his father, relentlessly driving him back so his team had time to infiltrate Zarkon’s ship, and Pidge and Shiro could cross the way to save her father. Zarkon withstood the attack but was drawn in just as Lotor had hoped. Victory or death was too ingrained in the old Galra’s ways. Now that Lotor was there to challenge him, this had become a deathmatch, and only one of them would walk away from this.

Lotor refused to believe that, after all of this, it would be him.

“I knew I should have killed you that day,” Zarkon said, his voice like rolling thunder in the brief moments when their blades crossed and there was an instant to fight with words. “I listened to the witch, and now my greatest disappointment has returned. You can’t possibly think you could defeat me.”

Lotor thought of all the things he’d imagined he’d say to this man, this creature, his _father_. Countless nights in The Way had been spent composing speeches about what a monster Zarkon was. How the universe was being destroyed by him and none would survive such tyranny. How he would destroy him to ensure Princess Allura and Voltron could restore peace, even if it killed him. Lotor thought of every word he’d ever wanted to utter to this man.

But he surprised himself when instead he sunk into his silence. What was there to say? Words had never meant a thing to Zarkon unless they were used to hurt or punish. Actions spoke louder.

So he lifted the Black Paladin’s bayard. The look Zarkon gave him made Lotor certain the message had come across loud and clear.

“I will defeat you,” Lotor said. “You may have bested me once, but you’re weak now, relying on the witch’s magic to keep you strong. That is not strength!”

“And what you’ve done for deca-phoebs, that is strength?” Zarkon demanded. “Don’t think I didn’t know, welp. I saw what the witch made you into. You think I didn’t know what she made you do? Millennia of work for a slave like you. I should have known it was a waste of time. I should have killed you then and there!”

The battle was brutal, and truth be told, Lotor did not remember all of it. It was all spur of the moment, focused thought that relentlessly narrowed on one thing. Survival. The defeat of his father. Their blades clashed viciously, the tide of battle shifting his way and then his fathers. He clenched his teeth against the desire to reach for his quintessence. He knew that if he needed his abilities, they would be there. They were always there, corrupted but ready, and there was nothing stopping him except the certainty that if he did not win this solely without his quintessence, then he would not have won at all.

That didn’t mean, when the battle deepened and he saw Zarkon drawing from quintessent power stored in his armor, that he did not do the same. The fight was long, and although he refused to use his quintessence to shock or drain his father, he had few qualms using it to keep his body going even when reason dictated that it should not. He used it to weather devastating blows and the pressure of his back crushing through solid chunks of stone. He fed it into every muscle every time Zarkon pressed his immense power against his own.

At the edge of his vision he saw Zarkon’s ship lift in the air, but it was listing which, under normal circumstances wouldn’t be good, but considering there was a Blade team and Paladins on board was probably not as bad as it could have been. He didn’t have much time to focus on it, not when his father refused to give an inch and took every advantage he could, which was every one Lotor accidentally provided. Several times he was forced to twist space, to relocate as quickly as possible, but the witch’s armor which encased the Emperor was impressive, and Zarkon kept up.

To his disappointment, he lost the bayard, and although he fully expected his father to use it to end his life, Zarkon merely toyed with it for a time, beating him dearly and ensuring that he was suffering every moment he continued to breathe. But Zarkon underestimated him. His time as Haggar’s slave, his time in The Way had ensured that any physical suffering meant so very little to everything he’d already endured, and even when his body begged to stop he pushed through, refusing to surrender.

“Give up!” Zarkon commanded.

“Never,” Lotor growled as he staggered once again to his feet. He would never bow to Zarkon. He would never submit to another force of the Galra Empire for as long as he lived. He would succeed where so many else had failed. Even without the bayard, he would _win_ somehow, no matter what. Even if it killed him. Princess Allura would pick up the pieces from there, he had no doubt, but he _would defeat his father_.

Although the odds were against him, they shifted yet again when the Paladins of Voltron, the ones who had not come with Shiro and Pidge, appeared and began firing on Zarkon. He saw the Blue Lion above, fierce and protective, providing what it could to help him in the fight, and that was when his father faltered. He’d turned his back on Lotor, showing the glowing vial of quintessence just waiting to be used. He’d activated it. It sunk into Zarkon’s body like an infusion, but how many times had Haggar done such a thing? How many times had he seen what happened when such a transfusion was interrupted?

It was true that he didn’t have the black bayard anymore, but the rubble around Lotor was ripe with weapons, and there was a spear-shaped stone in front of him. He didn’t hesitate. With his muscles screaming and his mind focused on just one thing, he took it up and tore through the quintessence distribution line located on Zarkon’s back. Zarkon screamed, the backlash weakening him, and Lotor launched himself into the air, gathering as much speed as he could to deliver his final, merciless blow.

He felt the spear sink in, ripping past a layer of metal into something soft and forgiving. It almost didn’t make sense. This was Emperor Zarkon. His father. This man had been ruthless and cold all Lotor’s life. He didn’t quite believe there was anything soft about him. Perhaps a part of him had believed Zarkon was literally made from something stronger than flesh.

But the improvised weapon sunk in, and he saw blood well out of the wound. The will and energy that had filled Zarkon abruptly fell away as he choked and coughed. He fell to his knees. The light that ensured his armor was still functioning stuttered and died. He fell forward.

The Emperor did not rise again.

Lotor stared at the figure of his father, the massive bulk of a creature that had terrorized his life, determined so many terrible trajectories of the universe with little more than a glower and a word, this … Emperor. The spear jutted out of him in ways he’d seen before firsthand. He’d done this before as Haggar’s slave, but this time, with the weapon of death extending out of the Galra’s body, it looked obscene.

He kept waiting for his father to twitch. To rise. To glare disdainfully at him before attacking again and killing him once and for all. Lotor waited. Time lost all meaning in that span of ticks. They seemed to go on forever as he waited.

Zarkon, Emperor of the Galra Empire, master of the Arena, _his father,_ did not move. And it struck him that he never would again.

Lotor had done it. He’d killed Emperor Zarkon. The tyrant had been put down.

And _he’d done it_.

Reports came in. The Galra fleet was fleeing, Commoner Holt had been rescued. No casualties. The fight was over.

The sun crested the horizon, warming his face with its gentle heat, and for a moment, one brief, but pure moment, Lotor felt the first true touch of peace.

* * *

He took the transport up to the Castle of Lions where the others were already waiting for him. Commander Holt was wrapped in his children's arms and Hunk, Lance, and Coran were teary-eyed at the display. Lotor’s team was upon him in a moment, checking him over, demanding to know what had happened, how it had happened, if Zarkon was really and truly dead.

This question, as unbelievable as it was, despite the fact that they were all alive and the Galran threat was gone, seemed to need his personal response. Everyone stopped to look at him, faces tense, hope on the edges just waiting for his words.

“Yes,” he finally said. “Zarkon met his end. His reign is over.”

Lotor could not think of a group he’d rather give the news to more than this brazen cluster of souls, and despite the strange ache that had gathered in his chest, he smiled because the cheer they gave was tremendous. They’d worked so hard to rid the universe of his father, and now the universe would never again be terrorized by Zarkon again.

With the information shared, he smiled. It wasn’t just his anymore. It was everyone's. It was real.

_Infirmary_ , Sassy flashed as Narti crossed her arms, and by now Shiro was also insisting on the same thing now that the fight was over.

“You look pretty rough,” he said, and Lotor snorted at that.

“I’m still alive. That’s what matters.” He lifted his hand and offered Shiro his bayard. “I could not have done it without your support.”

“After everything he’s put us through, any way we could take him down was a way I was willing to take.” Shiro took the bayard but offered his hand. “Thank you, Lotor. It must have been hard for you.”

He didn’t say anything, only returned the Paladin’s gesture before going to the infirmary where Narti and Coran had him examined and treated quickly. The others had left to make reports and share the news, but when Princess Allura entered the room, Narti, Sassy, and Coran smoothly left, leaving them alone.

Everything went quiet as she moved further in, and he could do little more than watch from where he sat on the medical table, allowing Narti’s treatment to complete. His body was tired, he was worn out physically, mentally, energetically, but still he forced himself to sit up straight for her.

Princess Allura glowered at him, and alone as they were, she let loose the full scale of her rage. In a moment she’d crossed the distance that separated them in the infirmary.

“You left _again_ ,” she snapped, hands shaking. “Without a _word_. Without speaking to me about it — without speaking to _any_ of us.”

“Shiro and Pidge were there,” he said, surprised by her sudden anger. He’d expected something, of course, but not the hot rage that burned through her now. “It was a success. We rescued Commander Holt without Pidge being used as Zarkon intended. Zarkon has been killed. The Galra Empire is without leadership. Princess, this might have been the biggest victory we’ve had yet—”

“Why did you do it?” Princess Allura demanded, cutting him off. “Why did you give yourself up to Zarkon?” To his horror, tears were in her eyes as she shouted the next words. “You could have _died_. And what then? What then, Lotor? Damn you.”

“Allura,” Lotor breathed, but he silenced himself when she snarled at him.

“Don’t you dare ‘Allura’ me! First you vanish without telling me where you’ve gone or why, leaving with Kolivan to be a Blade who told me nothing except that you were alive—”

“I was alive.”

“—and then you return with your memory and in near-perfect health, save us with a ship you made from the ore we found, tell me you’re the son of _Zarkon_ , then proceed to enter a death match with him.” Her hands clenched and she looked like it was all she could do to keep from beating him herself. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, the truth slipping out with his quiet surprise. “Zarkon was manipulating you with the life of Sam Holt. I could not let him do that. Not to you, and not to Pidge.” Lotor grew quieter. “He wanted me. The trade was fair.”

“And what if he’d beaten you?” she demanded. “What if Haggar had been here as well? You are the leader of the Blade of Marmora, Lotor, and you were once the weapon of the witch. If they recaptured you—”

“It was just Zarkon,” Lotor replied. “I could feel only his quintessence. And you and the other Paladins had weakened him. I was confident.”

“You were foolish!” Allura’s voice echoed through the room, her fury radiating before her face cracked and her tears slipped out. “What would we have done if they’d captured and enslaved you again?”

Lotor was taken aback. “You’d have carried on without me—”

“How could you _think_ we’d do that?” she demanded. “How for _one instant_ could you think we’d have let them hurt you again. Du-Lotor, you are our _friend_. A dear friend. And you left as if your life means nothing. As if it was the only course of action when I’m certain that if we’d taken some time to work as a team, we could have found something better—”

Her words cut off when he gripped her hand. It was a gentle hold, little more than a squeeze to capture her attention but he might as well have shouted at her with how effective it was.

“That’s because my life means very little, Princess Allura,” he admitted. “I know it means a great deal to others, but you … don’t understand. What I’ve gone through … I’m willing to do _anything_ to make sure the universe is safe. That you and Voltron and the Paladins are safe, anything at all. I may be a prince and I may be the leader of the Blade. I may be a lot of things. But if my slavery has taught me anything, it’s that what I’m best at is sacrifice. If my sacrifice could ensure the safety of Commander Holt, of you and Voltron, then I would do it gladly.” He held her eyes as he spoke the truth. “I was not afraid of death if that is your concern.”

Princess Allura looked horrified.

“You can’t mean that. You _can’t_.”

He pulled his hand away before easing himself off the table. Narti’s treatment wasn’t quite over, but it didn’t matter. There were things he had to do, things that needed doing and he couldn’t afford to waste time like this. To waste her time.

“I do. Perhaps it’s the Galra part of me. Or the Altean part of me. A strange, hybrid of both. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Kolivan, and we need to plan our next move. With Zarkon gone—”

“Stop.”

Lotor fell silent as he stared at her. Her shoulders shook, and her teary eyes were filled with fire.

“Princess—”

“How could you possibly say those awful things?” she whispered before her glower turned intense and passionate. “You _matter_ , Lotor. You are not a martyr. You’re a warrior, a leader, a _prince_! There are people in the universe who need you!”

He smiled tenderly at her. “Not as many as you might believe. The Blade has always thrived under Kolivan’s watchful eye, the Galra Empire will not want or respect me, and the universe has you, Princess. I’ve never been blind to the truth of my existence. Not since Haggar.”

“And what do I have?” she abruptly demanded, and the question was so unexpected and surprising that Lotor was left speechless. “Voltron is not mine. It belongs to those who believe in the goodness of others and peace of the universe. The Paladins all have a home. The Blade has its mission. I have the Castle of Lions and I have Coran, but Coran is more a second father to me, and I’ve never been under the illusion that this castle will ever be more than it is now. I have no home, my people were destroyed, and I am near alone in the universe, with so much weight to bear.”

More than anything Lotor wanted to tell her about the colony. That she wasn’t alone, that her culture still lived, still thrived to this day. The words were so close to his lips.

“But all this time, Lotor, since I met you, I haven’t had to bear it all on my own.” Her voice shook. “You’ve been there _with_ me.”

Lotor’s thoughts faded away.

“For so long, I thought I was alone,” she continued. “That there would be no one who understood what I was going through. How much Zarkon and the Galra had taken and hurt and destroyed. But then I found you, Lotor. I found _you_ and I didn’t feel so alone anymore. It didn’t feel like all the weight was on my shoulders, less when you finally told me who you are. The child of Zarkon. Prince of the Galra.”

He was confused. All this time he’d thought she’d hated that about him. He said as much.

“I was just trying to understand. To comprehend what that meant,” she admitted. “You were here, and then you left, and then you returned healthy and-and strong and a _prince_ for crying out loud. Lotor, what was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to think?”

Perhaps they were fair questions.

“And then you saved the blitz. You did _this_ , brought an end to Zarkon’s reign.” She took his hands again, and the fire changed to something cooler, softer, desperate. “Lotor, don’t _ever_ say you are only there to be used because it’s not true. You’re not. You _matter_. You’ve always mattered, and if not to the Blade, or the Galra, or even the Paladins, you mean so much to _me_.”

And before he could say anything else, she shifted forward and kissed him.

Lotor was ashamed to admit that for quite a few ticks he didn’t do a thing else. He was too stunned to believe that this was happening, even as the warmth of her burned into him hotter than a brand. Never had he let himself consider this possibility, not even at his weakest because someone like him, something _like him_ , someone who still had a monster buried within them should not ever be worthy of someone like her. She would never see him that way, and he’d accepted that. It was as it should be.

Yet here she was, brave and relentless.

After so long he felt her pull away and that broke his stupor, and before she could complete the action, he pressed back. His hands tightened around her fingers of their own accord, and she gasped ever so softly before melting into him. Time seemed to still and all that made it through to his mind was how pleasant she smelled, how soft and warm she was, and how a strand of loose hair was tickling his cheek.

She pulled away again and he let her, but she didn’t move far away. His hands relocated themselves to her elbows when hers shifted to his chest. Lotor could not stop staring into her brilliant crystalline eyes.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, dumbfounded, and she abruptly chuckled and rolled her eyes, even if they were still wet and misty and he was half-sure she was still angry at him.

“Why did you kiss me back?”

Where did he start? That she was beautiful? Intelligent? Passionate and incredible beyond measure?

Finally he said, “Because you saw me when I couldn’t even see myself, Princess. And you are the most incredible being I have ever met in my long life. You’re amazing.” He could not stop. The truth kept coming. “I do not deserve it, but you fill me with hope.”

“And is it so hard to believe,” she said tenderly, a hand cupping the side of his face. “That it’s the same for me?”

“Yes,” he admitted, the word little more than a whisper. “I’ve been a monster for nearly half of my life. I have hurt people. So _many_ people. I’ve very nearly hurt you.”

“That was not your doing,” she said firmly, her spirit bursting to life again. “The blame lies on Zarkon and Haggar, and I have never believed for an instant that it was your choice to do those things. Lotor, I realize now you nearly died to avoid hurting a soul after I first freed you. You’ve only ever fought when others were in danger. How is that any different than anything I’ve done?”

“You’re not broken,” he told her, his voice strained. “I _am_. I’m so very broken.”

“And it seems to me that, despite it, you’re doing literally everything in your power to take those pieces and make something of them. Something that can help and save others. How can you not see how important you are?”

No matter what she said, he still couldn’t, but perhaps that didn’t matter. Perhaps that wasn’t the point.

“Look at us,” he couldn’t help but point out. “The children of our fathers.”

“Arguing.” Then her features softened. “Saving the universe together.”

He sighed. “At least King Alfor would have appreciated the notion.”

“I believe he would have,” she said, eyes gentling with memory. “Lotor, the war … we could stop it all. All the fighting between the Galra and everyone else, there might be a way we could stop it all with an alliance.” Her eyes lifted to meet his. “Have you thought of that?”

“Every day,” he admitted with a whisper because it was true. “Every day.”

“This could be a good thing. The Princess of Altea and the Prince of the Galra,” Allura said, words growing more confident. “We could unite the universe. Bring an end to all the bloodshed and suffering.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he breathed, thinking of the colony. “Peace. An end to the suffering. And I’m willing to do exactly this, but Princess … me? You know what I’ve been. Where I’ve come from. There are other ways than this. Than me.”

“And if I like this way?” she asked, arching a brow. “I have always admired you for your strength and your courage and will. Yes, you have a past, but we all do. It’s never been about our sins, Lotor. It’s about what we do in the face of them. And you’ve done _so much_. What more do you need to prove?” Allura’s voice softened. “You’ve proved enough for me.”

Lotor could list so many things. His Number. His corrupted quintessence. But the longer he looked into her eyes, the more he was certain that she would do her best to negate them. That in her eyes he _had_ proved himself, even if _he_ never accepted those things.

He did not know how she could do that. But then again, he could hardly believe she and her actions could possibly exist in this cold and cruel world at all. Perhaps it was naïve of her, but she’d come this far with little more than goodness and drive.

Maybe that was all it took.

“You really think something could come out of this. Of us?” he asked. “You and I?”

“Don’t you?” she questioned. “The Princess of Altea and a Paladin of Voltron. The Prince of the Galra and a Blade of Marmora. Given how hard Voltron and the Blade have worked to bring about peace, do you really think the people of the universe wouldn’t rally behind the sight of the children of Alfor and Zarkon if they joined forces.”

“It’s compelling, I admit,” he replied before he squeezed her arm. “But the truth is that they’ll rally for you, Princess. It has little to do with me.”

“Lotor,” she said, hands rising to the sides of his face, the tips dipping into the edges of his hair to stroke there gently. When he didn’t stop her, she smiled at him. “I don’t think you hear very many stories about yourself, do you? And then people of the universe certainly don’t know you like I do.”

“And how do you know me?” Lotor hadn’t been able to keep the question to himself. It burned through him, and with her close like this, he couldn’t help it. She always brought out something in him that he worked so desperately to hide. Something only she seemed able to reach.

“I know you as a true friend. A dependable, if sometimes irritating ally.” He smiled at this. That was fair. “I’ve known you as a threat, but more than that you’ve been a companion and protector. You’re careful and gentle, and I know if you didn’t have to, you would never hurt a soul ever again.”

His eyes were tender on her.

“But that’s not how the world is.”

“It’s not,” she agreed, her fingers moving gently to stroke his face. To sink a little deeper into his hair. “But what’s so incredible about you, Lotor, is that you know it. And instead of lamenting that fact, you stand on your own feet and you _fight_. You fight harder than anyone I know.”

“That’s not true,” he replied, touching her cheek. “No one I’ve met has fought as hard as you.”

“And no one in the world, I’m guessing, has ever seen this tenderness.”

They hadn’t. Excepting perhaps Geeva, no one had ever seen this part of him. No one except her.

And the fact that she saw it at all, saw this side of him and could bring it out … it was incredible.

She was incredible.

“So what do you think?” she finally asked. “A royal alliance?”

He sighed, a small smile teased out of him. “How could I say no to you?”

She grinned like a Pryvilian that had gotten its way, and Lotor wasn’t sure who’d come out ahead in this arrangement. Her or him, because what she was offering, it was everything he’d never let himself consider because it was so far out of his reach. But she was offering. She _wanted_ this, just as much as he did. Everything before had been confusion. Hesitation. But it wasn’t now.

This was real. He could hardly believe it.

Her hands slid down to his neck, his shoulders, and he felt the way her fingers gently carded through his hair as they went. It was a nice sensation, something gentle and foreign and strangely soothing. He couldn’t quite remember anyone touching his hair like this, but he found he liked it when she did. Lotor smirked.

“You rather like it, don’t you,” he said with growing amusement as a blush began coloring her cheeks. “My hair. I noticed the way you can’t seem to stop touching it.”

“Oh hush,” she said with a smile. “I can’t help it. You left and your hair was barely an inch long and after a few phoebs it’s _this?_ ” She ran her fingers through his hair and sighed. “It’s practically enviable.”

“It’s nothing compared to yours,” he replied tenderly as he gave in to his desire to touch the cloud of her hair. It was as soft as he’d always imagined it was and shined like starlight.

She smiled, and her smile was filled with so much light and happiness that it was contagious, and he felt it spread throughout him as well.

This time he kissed her, and he was battered and he was beaten from his fight with his father, but despite that, he found he could not help but smile against Allura’s lips. Find wonder in the warmth and softness that pressed against him, perhaps the most wonderful thing he’d ever felt in his long, long existence.

And for the time, with her in his arms, everything was right in his world, and the pressures and worries that still waited for them found time to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all on Monday!
> 
> Wear your masks, fam <3


	19. Kral Zera

Lotor was busy organizing the next phase of their efforts when Acxa appeared with a datapad in hand, presenting it to him wordlessly before retreating again. He eyed her but understood what the action meant. Usually important information was shared readily with Princess Allura and the rest of the Paladins, but this was something she thought he needed to know first.

A glance at it proved she was right to assume this. He’d known this would happen after the defeat of his father, but he’d also supposed it was possible that no one would be organized enough to attempt it. Clearly he’d been wrong. After all, this was the Galra Empire, and there was a power vacuum.

Not good.

But he had known it would happen. He’d been thinking about it since the moment Zarkon died, but perhaps a part of him had been intent on avoiding it because, truly? It was not something he desired. There was a power void within the Galra Empire, that was true, and he knew the way things would play out. All Galra did, and he’d been raised to follow in his father’s footsteps, despite vanishing from the universe as he was made Haggar’s personal slave.

Maybe a part of him had hoped it would never happen. But it _was_ happening.

And the sooner he told Princess Allura and the Paladins of Voltron, the better. The sooner they could all move on. The sooner they could figure out a new course of action instead of doing what he’d once hoped he might do, and now hoped he’d never have to do.

With a sigh, once the Paladins of Voltron had arrived on the bridge, he pulled up tactical information and various bits of intelligence he would need to explain what was happening with the Galra. Much as he did not want to.

They stared at the tactical, attempting to understand.

“What’s going on?” Hunk asked. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s the Kral Zera,” Lotor replied, a tightness in his chest growing. “Now that news of Emperor Zarkon’s defeat has spread, the Galra will be looking for a new Emperor. The Kral Zera is the method by which that new Emperor is chosen. All Galra interested in assuming the throne will be there.”

“Okay, so, what happens? You guys just get together and, uh, vote? Arm wrestle it out?”

_If only the Galra could be so mature,_ he thought to himself.

“No, Hunk,” Lotor said instead. “The Galran way is Victory or Death. The Kral Zera is both a race and a battle. To claim the throne, one must fight their way up the steps and light the pillar. The first to do so is named Emperor.” Lotor’s eyes narrowed before he looked away so he didn’t have to look at the information in the room. “We should let the Galra fight. No matter who is crowned next, it will mean we have fewer leaders to contend with as we continue our assault.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Lance said. “I mean, I don’t blame you if you don’t, but you _don’t_ want to fight the Kral Zera? You’re the son of Zarkon!”

His lips pressed thin. “A truth I bear with great reluctance, I assure you.”

“You’re kind of a shoo-in for the throne,” Pidge said, trying to piece it together. “You’re royalty. I mean, sure, you’ve been gone for the last five thousand years, but they can’t take away who you are. That throne is yours.”

“It should be yours,” Shiro said firmly. “It’s important that we solidify our hold on the Galra Empire. This is a way.”

“And it will help establish stronger legitimacy in a royal alliance between our people,” Allura said, surprising him. “Lotor, I understand why you might not want to, but it might be important that you _do_ take the throne.”

“I’m prince in name only, Princess,” he said. “I don’t want any more bloodshed for any people of the universe, Galra included, but if I were to assume the throne, I cannot guarantee that the Galra will follow me at all.”

Her lips pressed and he could see she didn’t want to say what she thought, but he respected the fact that she did.

“You defeated your father. The Galra will respect that, you know it as well as I. Seizing the throne might be enough.”

“For some,” he argued. “Not all.”

“Some is still a start,” she pressed. “And you know what can come from a small beginning.”

The rest of the bridge stared at him, waiting, and in Paladin and Blade eyes alike he could see agreement. More than a few appeared to think this was a good idea. All he could think was that it was a bad one.

“It’s in two quintants,” he pressed. “That’s hardly time enough to put together a solid plan. The Kral Zera is in the sacred lands, on planet Fayiv. That’s deep in Galra territory. It will be a great risk simply making it there, and that’s nothing to say about what might happen if I arrive. I publicly declared myself aligned with Voltron and the Coalition, something a great deal of Galra did not agree with. If I go, little more than a blood-bath will ensue.”

“You’re making assumptions that you’ll go alone,” Allura said before she lifted her chin. “Voltron is going with you.”

“So are we,” Acxa said as she crossed her arms, speaking for the whole team.

“If we want to have any chance of a peaceful end to this war, Prince Lotor, you need to assume the throne. Anyone else will plunge the universe right back into the same reign of terror that your father started,” Shiro said. “ _You_ can end it. With you and Princess Allura leading the way, the universe will follow. But it only happens if you seize power.”

“And you’re strong enough to, I have no doubt,” Allura added with a gentle smile, and he sighed at her confidence. It was not that he though himself weak. He knew what he was. He knew his strength and his power. And he understood the logic behind the decision. This was a power move, one the coalition needed.

He merely could not see himself as Emperor of the Galra. A younger self had dreamed of such things, but too much had happened for him to crave the same now. He wanted peace, not a universe to rule and a war-inclined race to rehabilitate.

But what terrified him most, the deeper, darker worry he held, was that he was not fit to rule. He might have the title of Prince. He might be powerful enough to take the throne. But he had been a monster, a slave, and Haggar was still out there. She would undoubtedly be one of the major contenders, controlling a puppet to take the throne and seize control of the Empire. He’d come a long way, but all it had taken last time was one command, and he’d lost all control. Much as Lotor hoped his time in The Way healing with Geeva had helped to remove the programming, he was terrified to find out that perhaps it had not.

One word and he might become her servant again, uncontrollable and more powerful than ever. He would attack the Paladins and Voltron. He would attack Allura again.

“This is a mistake,” he murmured. Princess Allura only smiled.

“This is anything but. Now, will you brief us on your likely opponents, or will you force us to go in blind?”

He would never do such a thing, and although mild irritation nagged at the core of his chest because she refused to listen to reason, he also knew that when her mind was set up, nothing would stop her. Unless he could convince the Lions themselves not to help her, or even the Paladins, he knew there was no way. And with Shiro on board, it was useless.

And so he told them everything he knew, if not to help them understand the threat, but so they might be prepared for anything their opponents threw at them. When he got to Haggar, he refused to falter. They needed to know she was a threat. That he would have to face her, especially after they knew what she’d done to him.

“How do you fight her then?” Pidge asked, gripping her chin. “What happens if she tries to use a command?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s more likely that she will use a puppet in her place, but it’s entirely possible she will be there as well. She cannot directly enter the fight since she is not Galra, but no doubt she will participate in some way. The best I can hope for is that my time healing has been able to undo the strength of her commands. If not—”

“Nothing will happen,” Allura said firmly. “And we will _not_ let anything happen to you. She will not take you again.”

He almost believed her, if only from the strength of her words. But the witch still haunted his worst nightmares. The sound of her voice was always echoing in his mind’s darkest corners, along with the hunger. The need.

But even when he meant to say it, he found he could not. Dumah’s silence spread through him, locking that fear down, and all he could do was help them come up with the best plan they were able, because that was all there was left now. Time to help ensure their survival, and maybe, just maybe, his own.

* * *

Lotor supposed he was unsurprised to find the Galra had already begun fighting by the time he arrived at the Kral Zera, but he was surprised and deeply disturbed to find Sendak standing upon the steps, his flame bright in the dim light of Fayiv. Shiro flew fast, the gust the Black Lion made disrupting the entire battle and also extinguishing the flame, and while he believed he could have taken Sendak even at such a disadvantage, there was a greater part of him that wanted to do this on even ground. There was no doubt in his mind who his primary opponent would be in this fight.

And of course, he saw that the only way Sendak could have possibly been here to do this, _alive_ when Shiro had told him he’d ejected the Galra into the depths of space long ago, was if he’d had a savior. A powerful benefactor.

As Shiro landed, he saw her there on the other side of the gathering, hooded and narrow. The Nightmare herself.

“Haggar,” he said, voice dripping with ice and contempt. He’d known she’d be here, he had known as deep down as his soul went, but seeing her here was another thing entirely. He’d thought it would fill him with trepidation. Otherworldly caution.

Instead, he felt the heat of anger.

“You going to be okay?” Shiro asked, and Lotor noticed the tight pinch in his voice. The Black Paladin’s eyes were locked on Sendak as well. Discussions in the past made it clear that the Galra hadn’t limited his great depth of cruelty just to Lotor alone.

“I will be,” Lotor said, rising to make his entrance. “There’s no other choice.”

“If you need any help—”

“This is the Kral Zera,” Lotor said with a frown. “I must light the flame alone.”

Shiro didn’t say another word, and Lotor could feel his heavy gaze on his back as he prepared.

“Lotor?” Allura’s voice called from his comm, and despite what he was about to do, he couldn’t stop a spark of tenderness in his chest. He didn’t let it grow, however. Much as he wanted to keep it, it would only get in the way, and he had to be focused for this. Again, there was no other choice.

“I’m fine,” he told her, and to his surprise, he didn’t feel too much as if he was lying.

“Okay. But we’ll be here if you need us. You’re not in this alone.”

That spark threatened to erupt, and he couldn’t stop a tiny smile from curling his lip. “I know, Princess.”

With nothing more to say and a civilization to win, he lifted his chin and announced his presence to the Galra before him as he made his way out and away from the Black Lion.

They greeted him as he’d expected, with confusion, glowering, and several low growls and lifts of weapons. He ignored that because there was no doubt who the real contenders in this fight were, and until the Kral Zera was lit, everyone would be aiming for the end result. No doubt the rest would wait to see who won the match and would then decide if it was worth the risk of taking down the weakened champion.

“Well,” Sendak said, his voice carrying across the field for everyone to hear. “If it isn’t the great betrayer. You don’t belong here, mongrel. You will never light the Kral Zera. The Galra Empire will never follow someone as weak and pathetic as you.”

Before he’d arrived, Lotor had filled his mind with speeches he would make, words he felt the Galra needed to hear, whatever it took to convince them that his way was the right way. That he was the proper successor to the throne, despite everything that had happened. But as he stared at Sendak, as he made his way past all the other Galra staring, waiting for him to make such a proclamation, he found there was no speech waiting in his mind. Not a single word, and that was exactly right. Now, standing here, approaching his opponent with every intention of lighting the flame, he realized that the only real speech he had was the one he’d always kept for five thousand deca-phoebs.

Silence. Cold, unforgiving silence. And he would use it to make his actions speak louder than any words ever could.

Sendak frowned and Lotor manifested his blades.

“What do you possibly think you’ll do here?”

Ice flooded Lotor’s blood, and he glowered his frigid wrath at Haggar. He was not here for her. Not yet. But he would be if she made a single move toward him, as he would be once he defeated Sendak. Predictably she didn’t back down, but for the briefest of moments he thought he saw her glowing yellow eyes widen. Then she scowled.

“You do not deserve to be here. Only Galra may attempt the Kral Zera. Not a weak half-breed.”

Again, Lotor said nothing, because what was there to say? Everyone here knew his lineage. Even before he’d been enslaved, he’d never hidden his nature as a half-breed.

What mattered instead was that he’d done something no one else had ever done. Not only had he defeated his father, but he hadn’t come alone, and everyone would be blind and stupid not to be acutely aware of the Black Lion waiting behind him like a guardian. Zarkon had lusted after Voltron and had never managed to take it for himself.

Lotor, on the other hand, came with Voltron.

For the first time in his life he ignored her, tearing his eyes away from the greatest threat of his life, _to his life_ , to face Sendak and the Kral Zera. In a direct fight with her, he thought he could win.

So long as she didn’t attempt to activate him.

So he didn’t give her the chance. Instead, he twisted space out of range as he’d agreed would be the plan, snatching up a torch and lighting it. Even from where he was, out of audible range, he could see her scowl. But it didn’t matter. He’d entered the competition.

And he was going to be the victor.

He’d had one-on-one fights before, since leaving The Way. As a Blade, he’d used skill, speed, and stealth to win his fights. On the run after revealing himself to the universe, he’d been pressed in battle, but never in a way that truly tested him. Sendak, he was fighting him brutally, clearly intent on demolishing him as quickly and cruelly as possible, and the fight was fierce. If he let his focus slip even once, then he knew Sendak wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage.

But what amazed Lotor was how much easier this was than he’d thought it would be. Perhaps he was relying on his memories when he’d been Dumah, weak and powerless to defend himself against one of his greatest abusers. They’d never had a fair fight, let alone one where he wasn’t weak and restrained.

Now, however, he’d grown healthy and strong. He was skilled once again, able to defend himself and fight back for the first time.

Sendak was a tremendously skilled fighter, there was no doubt about that. Against anyone else, he likely would have won. But Lotor had traveled The Way. He’d defeated Zarkon. Sendak, in comparison, was problematic but nowhere near the threat he might have been under other circumstances.

Lotor all but danced around him, and it was quickly becoming clear who the better fighter was, though a slip up once was enough to remind him not to let it get to his head. Sendak had all but crowed with satisfaction when he’d thrown him through the air and into a wall.

“Slave,” Sendak growled, amusement at the edge of his words. “You think you’ve changed. You think all of this,” he gestured to Lotor and the change he assumed the Galra meant. “You think it matters? It doesn’t. Soon enough I’ll have you broken again, in your proper place groveling at my feet.”

“Never,” Lotor said, swords raised. “I ended Zarkon. His blood is on my blades. There is nothing you can do that he could not. You are nothing, Sendak, least of all future Emperor.”

“I’ll make you eat your words,” Sendak said, clawed hand spreading wider. “Only this time I’ll make sure to rip out your tongue. And once I am Emperor,” Sendak spat. “I will make you _my_ slave, and it will be worse than it ever was under the High Priestess.”

There was a great deal that Lotor had struggled to overcome and rise above since he’d been freed from Haggar’s grasp. By all accounts, it could be argued that he’d been incredibly successful in his efforts. He remembered. He’d healed. He’d succeeded against his father and helped free a third of the universe.

But that one word brought something out of him that he’d buried deep down. He wasn’t sure if it was just the word, or if it was Sendak, the Galra who’d made his life a special breed of hellish, but when Sendak said ‘slave’, it awoke something within him.

And it was not anything good. As a matter of fact, ever since he’d returned from The Way, it was one of the few emotions he had not yet felt, one he’d thought he’d worked past entirely in the peace of his healing. Now he realized it had only been sleeping. He was facing Sendak. A cruel master.

For the first time in a very, very long time, rage burned furiously in his chest. His hold on his swords bit deeply into his palms, his nails stinging his flesh where they dug deep.

There were no more words after that, no more taunting, and Lotor wouldn’t have it any other way. Silence was where he was strongest. From the silence he’d been forced into, he’d found strength and he channeled it now, efficient, aware, powerful. Not once did he feel the need to reach for his quintessence, not even to strengthen himself. This battle he would win without it. He would destroy Sendak and win the Kral Zera without magic, the only way it should be.

In Sendak’s desperation he ordered his fleet to begin an attack on the Black Lion, an attack that led to the start of what could only be described as a blood frenzy as Galra took the opportunity to attack each other without mercy. This was exactly what he’d least wanted to happen, but thankfully Princess Allura was true to her word. Within moments of the Black Lion being attacked, the rest of Voltron appeared, quickly forming itself and making quick work of stopping the fight. It was a mess, but then that wasn’t anything new when determining a new ruler. It was like birth; it was never gentle.

And when it became clear that Lotor would win, when Voltron had stopped the dogfight above them, Sendak became furious and desperate. His actions were rougher, harder to endure, but they also became more predictable. The fight coalesced, Lotor moved more fluidly than he’d ever moved in his life, fighting for his life, for his freedom, for the future of the Galra, a future he knew Sendak would leave bloody and broken.

Lotor would not let him.

That thought was all it took to drive his swords home.

Sendak gasped, stumbling back, clutching his bloody wound but it was already too late. Red trailed out of him and when he opened his mouth to say something, blood filled it there too, taking his speech away. Quintessence swelled through Lotor, ready should he need to move again, to fight again, to do anything to ensure his opponent stayed down. That the flame Lotor had carried made it to the basin.

The Galra, Zarkon’s faithful commander and Haggar’s would-be puppet fell to his knees before collapsing forward. The energy of his prosthetic flickered and died, dropping to the ground with a clang that echoed throughout the area, disrupting everything and drawing attention.

Sendak lay unmoving at his feet as Lotor’s chest heaved. Memories of all the times he’d been tortured by this man flashed through his mind, how close to the brink Sendak had brought him to the end. And now here he was, lifeless at Lotor’s feet, the fire of Lotor’s flame igniting the Kral Zera.

Lotor had won.

His chest heaved as he stood above atop the pillar, the wind gently carding through his hair as the world around him went silent. Below the fighting stopped entirely, all eyes on him. The fighting above slowly tapered off to a stop. Voltron hung in the air. The universe seemed to still. Still for _him_.

That was until he felt quintessence manifest to his side. To his horror, Haggar was there like an oil slick, glowing yellow eyes narrowing, and suddenly he _knew_ what she was doing there. If it had been anyone else, she’d have fought them.

But he’d won the Kral Zera, and he’d defeated her previous puppet.

Surely he would make the perfect replacement the moment she activated him again.

He’d known this had been a mistake.

“Slave,” Haggar’s wretched voice commanded like it did in all of his memories and all his nightmares. “Feed.”

For a moment, Lotor thought he’d blacked out, and in that horrifying instant, he thought the witch had won again, won at the height of his triumph. That she’d reaffirmed the fact that no matter how high he’d pulled himself out of the nightmare that had been his existence, no matter how much he’d changed, how he’d found himself again, that at the bottom of it all he was still her monster. Still her weapon and slave, Emperor or not.

And while the moment seemed to extend forever, eventually … it passed. He found that although his body suddenly ached to reach out with his quintessence and leech everything around him mercilessly to feed a hunger he had done his best to forget, the reality was that he had not moved a muscle. Thoughts of Geeva’s calm voice filled his mind as he thought about all his time in The Way with her. The colony. Voltron. Allura. Everyone and everything he’d worked _so_ hard for.

His quintessence remained under his control, harnessed, if only barely.

But it _was_ under his control. He had not done as she’d ordered. He’d made a choice, and he’d made it happen. He could all but hear Geeva’s words in his mind as the world settled around him, a new _reality_ he’d hardly believed was possible or real.

The command hadn’t worked.

And he’d just proved it, not only to Haggar, then more importantly to himself.

Lotor let lose the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and the witch stared at him, eyes wide. It was like she couldn’t believe it. He hardly believed it, but he had not fed. He’d remained himself.

And with conviction, he knew he would never lose it again.

“Your words no longer control me, witch,” he said breaking his silence, and a bubble of righteousness swelled up from the pit of his being to fill his chest to the brim with a confidence he hadn’t realized he’d lost. Confidence he’d had so long ago, before his slavery. “And I will ensure you never harm another as you have harmed me again.”

Haggar stared at him, surprise flooding her face, causing her to step back. If there was an action that appeared to cement his right to be here, to be Emperor. He could see it in the distinct way the Galra below watched him. He’d stood up to the High Priestess Haggar.

And given the way she was slowly moving away, and then with a flicker vanishing completely before he could do a thing to stop her, it became clear that he also hadn’t been the one to retreat.

For a moment it seemed as if the world stood still. Nothing moved, not even him. Everything was frozen and he wondered if it would stay like this forever. He’d ended the lives of two of his abusers. He’d defeated them both in combat. He’d _lit_ the Kral Zera. Haggar had run.

Reality breathed again, and with it, Lotor found his voice as he faced the warring Galra below. The words he hadn’t had earlier now filled him.

“I am Lotor, son of Zarkon,” Lotor said, taking one final breath before he said the words he had not wanted to say. “And I have lit the flame.”

“All hail the new Emperor of the Galra,” the Archivist proclaimed. “Emperor Lotor!”

Lotor stared out, half-numb as the Galra on the field slowly knelt, heads down and rage subdued. Voltron stood behind him like a massive guardian. Sendak was defeated, and although Haggar had vanished, it hardly mattered now. Not when he’d won the Kral Zera.

Not when he had suddenly become Emperor of the Galra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next post Thursday.


	20. Oriande

Lotor had not expected a single Galra to accept the fact that he had won the Kral Zera, and therefor the title of Emperor. He’d fully expected a mass revolt, and for all this work to have been for nothing.

Instead, the number who’d pledged allegiance by the end of the first quintant resulted in a tentative, but sizable chunk of the Empire. Not all of it, he’d never been naïve enough to believe that would happen, but it was more than he’d thought he’d receive. But enough, with the coalition’s help, to make him believe that a future with true potential for peace was at hand. Allura and the Paladin’s faith in what it meant for him to assume the throne had been well-placed, it seemed. Whether it was due to his power, the need for those lower on the rungs to gain political leverage enough to one day fight him, or that the Galra people _did_ want peace, the fact of the matter was that between himself and Princess Allura, with a true alliance at hand, it _was possible_. Perhaps even soon.

Perhaps, even very soon with Allura’s help, now that there was finally a chance and some time.

Truth be told, perhaps he’d never quite believed he’d get this far. Well, a younger him had believed, but a younger him had also been filled with ambition and youthful nerve that had been sorely tested over his five thousand deca-phoebs in captivity. But he’d become more of a realist, and perhaps a touch cynical. He’d believed Allura and Voltron could do it. But not him. Never him.

And yet, here he was, at the center of the Galra Empire, in a throne room, _his_ throne room and under the banner of their fathers when they were united. He led Princess Allura to a quieter, calmer chamber where they could talk and discuss the future while the others took advantage of Galran information and tech that was now available to them.

All the while the item he’d originally sacrificed his freedom for hung deep in a pocket, waiting.

“I can still hardly believe it,” Allura confided as she looked openly around at the Galra who passed them and the sentries that paid her no notice. “This is real.”

“I keep expecting to wake up and find it was all a dream,” he admitted, leading her into the only conference room with a view of the universe beyond. Even now that he was Emperor and could go where he pleased, it was difficult for him to be within Galra territory where everything was sharp and authoritarian. Enclosed walls here were too similar to all of the ones he’d been forced to endure as Dumah, and any chance he had, he chose a room with a view, if only so he could look out and be reminded of everything that had changed.

A hand around his stopped him.

“It’s not a dream, Lotor,” Allura said, her blue eyes kind. “We’ve done this, together. This is real. We’re so close.”

He smiled at her. He couldn’t help it. If it hadn’t been for her, he’d never have been freed of the witch. He’d have never remembered himself or what he’d sacrificed so much for. He’d have never accomplished all of this.

“It’s all because of you, Allura,” he corrected, pulling her a little closer so he could wrap his arms around her as she did the same so willingly. “The universe has you to thank for so much. I know I do.”

She kissed him, and as he always did, he reveled in the simple, pure sensation or intimacy freely given. Allura smiled at him, and it was like looking at the majesty of the universe right there within her.

“It _was_ a team effort. Your support has meant everything. I may have started things, but you’ve helped turn the tides in ways that otherwise would have resulted in disaster. Don’t sell yourself short.” A charming smirk flashed across her lips as she teased, “Emperor.”

“Not you. Please, not you,” he sighed, though he smiled as well. He let her go and offered her a seat. “I’m not sure I can take it from _everyone_. It might go to my head.”

“I think you’re the most level-headed person I know,” she chuckled before gesturing to the seat next to her so they could begin. “Well, I suppose we should get down to it. What have you learned?”

“A great deal, though I’m blessed to have several highly capable advisors in the Blade who have been working with the spies we’d had planted to give a good sketch of the state of the Empire as it is now. Roughly sixty percent of what had remained of the Empire after the blitz pledged themselves to me, but the ones that did not are warring and eager to seize power when the opportunity presents itself. And although I have these allegiances, it will take more than just my will to keep them from defecting. The primary problem of the Galra is the same problem of the universe. A finite amount of energy. Quintessence.”

“Then how do you propose we solve this problem?” she asked, thinking. “Do you have an idea?”

He smiled at her. “I do, actually.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh?”

“It’s you, Allura. You and Voltron.”

Lotor had expected the incredulous look.

“I mean, yes, we can fight,” she said. “But solve an entire universe’s energy problems?”

“It’s possible,” he promised before digging in his pocket and pulling out the stone he’d sold his life for millennia ago. “With this, you can.”

Princess Allura eyed the strange, triangular stone in his palm before taking it in her hand. Admittedly, it didn’t look so impressive, but like with many things, its appearance hid its true nature.

“What is it?”

“A compass stone,” he said. “Allura, I want you to close your eyes and feel with your senses. What do you feel?”

Unsure but willing to go with his strange request, she closed her eyes with the stone balanced in her palms. It took a moment, but he knew she’d be able to do it. Blue eyes widened in surprise.

“It’s Altean!”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And with your help, and your abilities, if you can unlock it, it will lead us to the birthplace of Altean alchemy. Oriande.”

“Oriande,” she echoed, perplexed this time. “But that’s just a folktale. My father told me stories of Oriande when I was a girl.” She suddenly blushed. “I told you that.”

Lotor smiled, remembering that day. “You did. Before my imprisonment, I did extensive research on Altean culture, hoping to connect with my Altean heritage. To preserve anything that remained after my father destroyed so much of it. In that endeavor, I learned of Oriande. My search brought me to many corners of the universe and slowly I gathered enough evidence to support the theory that it is more than myth. It is real.” He tapped the stone in her palm. “This can lead us there.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked, eyeing the stone more closely now. “And why is Oriande so important? How will it help me help you gain control of the Galra?”

“In my research I found that my mother, Honerva, theorized there was unlimited quintessence just beyond the edge of our reality. I believe there is a way to access that quintessence using the same ancient Altean alchemy your father used to create Voltron and the Lions. If you are able to reach Oriande and learn the secrets there, perhaps we might test my mother’s theory and find a way to solve the quintessence problem we face.”

“If Oriande is real,” she said, still hesitant. “My father never once hinted that Oriande ever existed. Not even Coran has heard a thing about it, and if my father told anyone, it would have been him.”

“Likely to protect Oriande,” Lotor reasoned. “But I suspect that the stories he told you about it weren’t just stories.”

Allura frowned then leaned closer to the stone, and he couldn’t help but do the same. She turned it over in her hands several times.

“Why must I be the one to activate this?” she asked. “I’m not the only one who can control quintessence.”

He couldn’t help glancing away. “Your father, King Alfor, was a great alchemist, and I have no doubt that his ability passed on to you. Your command of quintessence, your understanding of it … Allura there is only you. My ability?”

Lotor lifted his hand, and he let quintessence build there for the briefest of moments before his fingertips sparked a violent and deadly violet before he let it pass.

“Perhaps I had such promise in the past, but my quintessence is too corrupted for anything as life-giving and pure as Oriande. So no. Not me. But you could go there and learn the ancient ways. You could help me bring unlimited quintessence to the universe and end the fighting once and for all.”

“You always sell yourself so short,” Allura sighed before she gave him a small smile. “I’ll break you of that horrible habit one day.”

“If anyone could, no doubt it would be you.” He meant it too. Because of her, so much had been accomplished. So much was possible. He wrapped her hands around the stone and held them there.

“I wish I had your faith sometimes,” she confided. “I worry. My father was an Altean of great skill and ability, possessing something very rare. Coran doesn’t have it. Honerva didn’t have it. I might not have it either.”

“You do.” He was sure of it, so sure. One of her hands shifted to interlace their fingers together before she squeezed them gently.

“If only we could possess the same faith we have in each other.”

He smiled tenderly at her.

“I suspect it would make things much easier.”

From between their hands where the compass stone sat, its energy suddenly changed. Light edged its contours, and instinctively they released it. It rose into the air as if orienting itself, before more light flooded the room. Lines and ancient designs manifested in front of their eyes, designs he’d only ever seen in ancient Altean ruins. Symbols that even the long memory of the colony no longer possessed.

But there was no doubt what was before them.

“Oriande,” she breathed, staring up at the star map with him. “It’s real.”

“It is,” he agreed, relieved to see first-hand that all of his research had been right. The proof was right here before his eyes. For a moment he felt light, so light. Impossibly light. “And we must go there.”

* * *

The map led them true, even if it was near impossible to believe. But all of the stories fit as he stared at the space before them. Ancient poems he was certain only a handful of people in all the universe now knew played themselves in his mind as he stared at the white hole in front of them. It was the only thing that made sense.

“The path to Oriande is there,” he said, and it was as if he stood on the cusp of a dream he’d never believed he’d actually see come true. Allura would go there with the Paladins and learn the ancient ways.

The rest of the Paladins weren’t quite as sure, and Lotor understood. The ship graveyard caused by the white hole was daunting, to say the least, but Voltron could stand the pressure and the radiation that had felled all else, and as he’d stood on the bridge with Coran and watched Voltron move steadily onward, inward, vanishing into the light, Lotor had been certain about that. They would make it to Oriande.

That was before they started shouting reports about a strange creature in the vortex, something incredible. Powerful. Something that attacked without mercy. A white lion.

It struck something, a memory he’d noted once or twice, and dread filled him.

“Get out of there,” he suddenly shouted. “That’s the guardian!”

He hadn’t had to say much more than that, Voltron was already racing out. But the White Lion had launched several attacks. Attacks that had left Voltron weak and limp in space, separated into individual lions while the Castle of Lions sat impotently at the edge.

Lotor’s mind raced. He hadn’t anticipated a guardian and now he struggled to determine how to get Allura past it, but he was pulled from his thoughts by Coran.

“What’s that on your face? Those look like Altean marks!”

His eyebrows rose and out of the corner of his eyes, yes, he saw that his cheeks were glowing a faint purple. A glance at a reflection showed exactly what Coran had just described. Altean markings, not as graceful or elegant as Allura’s or any other Altean’s he knew, more angular and sharp, but they were there. They were on _his_ cheeks, for the first time in his life, and they were glowing.

A glance at Coran made him pause because the other Altean’s markings weren’t glowing. And he would bet anything Allura’s were.

Lance, predictably, was irritated by the bad information which had threatened their lives but Lotor ignored it as he requested that Allura remove her helmet so he could see for himself. So his thoughts might give way to reality.

He was right. Her blue markings glowed softly as she stared at them, then at his own in amazement.

For a moment Lotor wasn’t sure if he’d dropped out of his body from pure surprise because after all this time and planning, after all the hope he’d kept locked away so tightly in his chest for so _very_ long, he’d never believed that he of all people … that _he_ would have them.

“The Mark of the Chosen,” he whispered, his fingers grazing his cheeks where marks he’d never even known he’d had glowed. He could just make out their light at the bottom of his sight. Light purple, but his and real.

Not only could Princess Allura go to Oriande … but so could he.

“What is this Mark?” Lance demanded, frowning as he glanced between Lotor and Princess Allura. “Why do you guys have them and Coran does not?”

“There are different types of Alteans,” Lotor began, drawing closer to Allura to gaze at her. The glowing marks only highlighted more of her beauty. He seemed unable to pull his gaze from her. “Some are more skilled than others, have more magical abilities. No offense, Coran.”

“None taken,” the other Altean replied easily. “What does this mean then? What are we supposed to do? We’re sitting vyga-birds out here, and without the Lions active, we’re not going anywhere, least of all to Oriande.”

“The guardian is the gatekeeper. It will only allow those that are worthy through.”

Allura’s eyes lightened with realization.

“Lotor and I must go to Oriande alone.”

That predictably caused an uproar, but Allura was right. The White Lion would only allow the worthy through. The Mark of the Chosen was proof of that. Only they would be able to make it.

Eventually she won the argument and soon they were on their way. The white hole loomed before them, and all Lotor could think about was the research he’d found so long ago. Either he was right, and they would make it through the guardian and to Oriande, or he was wrong and they would be killed. He knew he was right, he _knew_ it. But there was always that little shred of doubt, but as they entered and the White Lion appeared, they didn’t stop. Allura’s face was firm, and it helped him keep going, even if they both winced as the White Lion opened its mouth in a roar.

But nothing came.

Slowly Lotor opened his eyes, but instead of the blinding white light of the white hole, what he saw was an impossible world hovering in glory, its lands held together by a gravity he could only guess at. Everything was gentle and soft, pure and untouched. He could hardly believe what he was seeing as they flew through the air, looking for a place to land, but it didn’t fade away. It didn’t change. They were here. All of this was real. They landed and Lotor moved toward Allura as if in a daze.

“This place,” he breathed, staring out at a place out of stories and fairy tales. A place many believed had just been a myth.

“It’s beautiful,” Allura said, as amazed as he was. “Lotor … we found it! We’re here!”

“We are,” he said, amazed. “We really are.”

They moved quickly, crossing floating islands and climbing cliffs to make it to the temple he and Allura had heard so many stories about. They talked as they moved, not a whole lot but this place brought out honesty and made it easier. He told her some of his past. About Zarkon and what had happened to a planet where he’d been in charge of quintessence harvesting. Hinted how scarring the ordeal had been.

“We’ll never let such a thing happen again,” Allura promised.

“Never again,” he agreed.

Soon they stood before the Temple of the Ancients, and after a quick glance toward each other, they ventured forward. They encountered giant stone carvings of the Ancients which demanded payment for passage, then another test, something Allura had been able to activate due to her training as a proper Altean, a move that saved their lives.

Even if it split them up and placed them in the greatest test of all.

He was no longer in the Temple of the Ancients, but a strange world of water and sky. Every move he made echoed.

Lotor was alone.

“Princess?” Lotor shouted, searching for the Altean Princess but finding nothing but a strange, confusing world. “Allura!”

She wasn’t there, no matter where he looked, and as distressing as that was he didn’t have the time needed to dwell. Not when the White Lion was back. Not when its teeth were bared and its front legs were crouched and ready to spring.

It attacked.

The suddenness of the attack caused him to react instantly, flashing to the side before summoning his swords in an effort to fend it off. He needed to stop it. He needed to find Allura. He needed to figure out how to get out of here. But the harder he fought, the harder the beast fought, and the pressure was skewing his thoughts.

Lotor faced the lion, prepared for its next attack and knew that one way or another, it _would_ be the last. He gripped his swords in his hands. Quintessence flared to life at his fingertips and jolted along the blades’ lengths. One way or another he would defeat this beast. He would fight it. Make it let him pass. Make it let him find Allura. _Make_ it let him understand the teachings of the ancient Altean Alchemists. He would win. He would be victorious, and—!

A jagged breath ripped out of Lotor’s chest and he let his swords fall from his hands. The static crackle of quintessence faded from his fingers, and although the lion’s growl grew louder, threatening and thunderous, Lotor found that all he could do was collapse to his knees, heart torn and broken.

“I will not fight you,” he said, before he bowed his head to the lion, face agonized by the way his own thoughts had so quickly followed darker paths. The paths of his mad father and the witch Haggar. Paths he _did not_ want to follow. “Do what you will, but I will not fight you. I can’t.”

The lion charged, and Lotor closed his eyes. He thought of Allura. He thought of the Blade. He thought of the colony of Alteans still alive and thriving, even after all this time. It was true, he searched for the ways of the Ancients to help the universe fight for freedom and peace, for a happy world where nothing like what had been done to him would ever happen to another soul. But this was the trial of Oriande. He knew what he was getting into when he came.

Death had always been a possibility, and if that was the judgment of Oriande, then so be it.

The lion gave one final, terrifying, heart-stopping roar. Lotor waited for the pain.

It never came.

Instead the world around him changed when he opened his eyes. He was hanging suspended in a strange space, alive and well and filled with the most profound peace he’d ever experienced in his life. He hung alone but he did not feel alone, not in the slightest. Not at all.

“Welcome, my child,” a voice told him. “You’ve passed the test and proved yourself to us.”

“But I’m half-breed,” he couldn’t help but say. Now that he was before a consciousness which had clearly judged him, he couldn’t help but confess. He didn’t want this if he was not worthy. The Ancients, they _had_ to know. They had to know everything. “And my quintessence, it’s corrupted and impure. Perverted. I’ve done so many terrible things, unspeakable things. I’m grateful to be here … but should I be here?”

“You passed the test,” the voice told him gently. “Despite what has happened to you, you understood that the path before you did not lay in violence. That you were willing to offer yourself, something you have done many times without hesitation.”

Lotor couldn’t say anything in opposition to that. It was true. Over and over he sacrificed himself for others. Chose their lives at the cost of his own. He didn’t know what to say.

“I’m here to understand,” he finally whispered. “To understand the ancient alchemy so I might save the universe with Princess Allura.”

“We know, and it is already in you,” the voice said with unfathomable love and tenderness. “Now let us embrace you. You are home.”

Lotor closed his eyes, humbled beyond measure, and opened his heart to the existences around him, feeling at one with the universe for the first time in his long life.

* * *

Lotor wasn’t certain how long he existed in that strange void, but he knew when he’d learned what he’d needed to learn, and he knew when it was time to leave. He’d closed his eyes, aware that it was time, and when he opened them again, he stood before the great temple of Oriande, chest aching with all the love he’d found there.

A shift to his side showed he was not alone.

“Lotor?”

“Allura?”

“Did you …” Allura began, at a loss for words. “Did you make it passed the White Lion? Did you find the Ancients?”

He could only stare at her, stare at all of Oriande, this incredible place he’d never dreamed he’d see himself. This place which had accepted him despite his heritage, his flaws, his corrupted quintessence. This place which had made him feel connected to the universe, to _life_. Lotor couldn’t help it. He smiled.

“I did. Did you?”

“Yes,” she said, her smile spreading wide. “Yes, I did!”

“We passed,” Lotor said, staring down at his hands for a moment, then at Allura — beautiful, wonderful, brilliant Allura — who smiled at him as if they’d managed a feat more incredible than anything they could have ever dreamed possible. A tentative, awed smile tugged at his lips, and he couldn’t help but say it again. “We passed.”

“We did it!”

With a happy shout Allura threw herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she all but crowed with happiness and excitement. There was so much knowledge now in his mind, he understood _so much more_ , it was incredible. They’d _done_ it!

Elation, a sensation he’d never once felt roared through him, overwhelming him and he threw his arms around her and lifted the princess up, spun her around and all but screamed with happiness because this was _real_. They’d passed the trials of Oriande. They’d earned the wisdom of the ancient Altean Alchemists. _He —_ a half-breed, the son of Zarkon, a man so broken and twisted and unworthy — had been found _worthy_.

If this was a dream, he prayed he would never wake from it. It was all he’d ever wanted. To defeat his father. To find Oriande. To save and help those who had been hurt by the Empire’s violence. And he was doing it. He was doing _all_ of it.

And as he stared down at Allura, looked into her pure, crystalline-blue eyes, he realized it was all because of her. It had always been because of her.

His movements slowed as the world seemed to narrow to her in his arms, radiant and strong in this beautiful, mythical place. This woman was the reason he was here today. She’d freed him. Helped him. Taught him to learn and trust again, to accept who he was, and what he was. She’d helped him come this far. Princess Allura of Altea.

His heart filled with a warmth unlike anything he’d ever experienced, intense and tight, perfect and bittersweet. Lotor realized as he held her gaze that he loved her.

He loved her more than anything.

“You,” he said when they’d stopped, and he could hardly find words to express everything he wanted to tell her. “Are incredible.”

He kissed her, and she, filled with the exact same elation, threw herself into the kiss. For a moment, one brilliant, glittering moment in time, he’d never been happier. There was nothing wrong in his life. Zarkon and Sendak were gone, Haggar had vanished and he hoped never to see her again. The Galra Empire was on its way to being settled and united, though there were still some battles to be waged. But they had Voltron. Allura was here, and in the future, they would have Sincline to tap into untold magnitudes of quintessence, quintessence that could be shared across the universe, ending so many fights before they even started. He’d been tested by ancient Alteans and he’d been accepted. He’d found himself again.

For one brief, bright moment, everything was perfect.

When they pulled apart, he sighed, “I never want to leave.”

“I feel the same,” she said with a tender smile, stroking a stray lock of his hair back before taking his hand. “One day we’ll come back.”

The promise there in her voice was something he trusted. Something he could believe in, and he allowed her to lead him away from this incredible, mythical place with the true belief that it would still be there for them one day.

* * *

They got back to the others on the ship and were able to restart it with their newfound abilities, but it was only once they were all on the bridge that the real questions were asked.

“Well?” Shiro asked. “Did it work?”

He and Allura had glanced at each other before he’d smiled and she’d exclaimed, “Yes! We know the secrets of Altean alchemy. We’ve done it!”

Of course they didn’t quite understand the full scope of what that meant. Lotor suspected that even he did not understand what that completely entailed, but it didn’t matter because the excitement was real. The realization that things were about to change _was real_. Lotor contacted Kolivan to tell him the news, knowing that Kolivan would share it with the colony and the Alteans at the base.

“We found Oriande. The Princess and I were both accepted. We know the secrets of the ancient Alteans. Sincline will be complete and the future … it’s at hand.”

Kolivan, as was his character did little more than nod in affirmation at the success, but there was a smile there at the edge of his lips.

“And the Princess?” he’d asked. “How is she taking all of this news.”

“Brilliantly,” he replied. “Most of the work will fall down to her since her quintessence is purer, but there are ways I will be able to support her so the work won’t be completely on her. I’ll be able to troubleshoot and adjust as we go. But this is happening, Kolivan.”

Lotor wondered what Geeva would say if he could tell her himself. He couldn’t wait to see her again, once the fight was over. Until then, he’d just have to hope the information found its way to her, and that she was well. And the sooner he could work with Allura, the sooner they could bring peace to the universe. The sooner the colony would no longer need to hide and could once again be free to grow and thrive.

It was all coming together.

Later that evening he and Allura were in one of the viewing galleys, relaxing from the long day on a plush sofa. They had been quiet for some time, with her curled up against him and his nose all but buried in her hair at the crown of her head. He hadn’t minded the quiet, and he suspected she had not either for similar reasons. There was so much to think about now, so much to consider. Now he knew things he’d never known, never realized had been there all along, and all he wanted to do was sort through them in amazement. This information would save so many lives.

“Lotor,” she said against his shoulder, tone amazed as she almost seemed to see inward. “Lotor, we can do this. Together we can really do this. We can find a way to tap into unlimited quintessence. We can end the fighting. We can bring an era of true peace, like before Zarkon. We can do it!”

“Yes,” he said, staring out across space, his mind lost in possibilities, only anchored to reality by his arm around her waist and hers around his own. He could see something in the future, something incredible and unbelievable. A place where the horrors of the universe were beaten back, and no race was ever at risk of being destroyed. It was beautiful, idealistic and perhaps a touch naïve. But his heart fluttered at the thought that together with Princess Allura, _they could do it_. “We really can.”

Her arm tightened around him. Her eyes were bright with energy.

“When do you want to begin?”

His response was honest and sure as he pulled her closer, needing to share this one beautiful, intense, brilliant moment as they stood together on the cusp of the future. “This very moment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end now, I hope you're excited!
> 
> Next update is on Monday.


	21. Honerva

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end. Enjoy :]

With both of their abilities pooled and combined, the work needed to alter and empower all three Sincline ships began in earnest and progressed faster than he could have imagined, even with steady breaks to keep them both strong and well. He supposed it was inevitable because their enthusiasm fed off of each other, and with the Paladins of Voltron, the Blade of Marmora, and the Coalition to take care of the skirmishes erupting on the edges of the territories, developing plans to liberate solar system after solar system and succeeding, their work grew ever more important. Of course they were forced to break away periodically to lead as was expected. But where once the work of Voltron and the Blade had been quite separate, now they were a team. The universe expected it of them, the daughter of King Alfor and the son of Emperor Zarkon. They _were_ leading the universe into a new era. Everyone could see it.

They grew closer than ever.

It wasn’t uncommon that after a particularly intense session manipulating quintessence, they would both stop, gasping, and Allura’s knees would shake hard enough he would rush to support her since the strain was something he was unfortunately used to, even after his recovery. They would struggle to a private lounge to recover, and it was a rare day when they weren’t curled together, invigorating each other with plans and thoughts of the future, waiting for their energy to replenish before getting back to work.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” he couldn’t help but tell her one day as she sipped what Hunk liked to call ‘hot chocolate’. She was leaning against his side as he stroked her hair. “You’re quite pale.”

“You’re one to talk,” she shot back with a quick grin. “You’re beginning to look a little … skeletal.”

He knew what she meant, and he knew why. In the team they made, Allura was the precision instrument which enacted their plan whereas he was the equivalent of a battery. His quintessence was too corrupted to be able to do the delicate work required directly, but indirectly he was able to give what strength he had to Allura to further power and amplify her abilities while providing a second set of eyes to her work. Unfortunately, this was exactly the type of work Haggar had once used him for and old habits were hard to break, even after his recovery. His ability to power quintessent spells was well-practiced and efficient, and once started he did not often stop until he was on the brink or Allura pulled away first.

The first time they’d done this, he’d collapsed, pushing himself further than he’d meant. Allura had chided him relentlessly, the worry clear in her eyes, and as much as he hated it, it was often because she pulled away that he didn’t burn himself out again and again. It was another lingering way the witch had ruined him. He still had only the faintest amount of control over his own quintessence when he was using it like this. It was always better if another was there to help him, otherwise his control was all or nothing. There was no in-between.

This often meant that once he’d run out of his natural quintessence to keep going, he’d switch and draw from the energy of his body itself. He was starting to lose muscle mass from the exercise, and she was right. There were hollows in his face that shouldn’t be there. Whereas Allura was simply pale, it appeared almost as if he was on the verge of a regression.

“Sorry,” he told her, dropping his hand from her hair so he could pull her close against his chest, arms wrapped around her. He dropped his brow to her shoulder. “Old habits. I’m trying.”

“I know,” she said gently, taking a hand in hers and squeezing it. “We’re way ahead of schedule as it is. We can slow down a little. It wouldn’t do to have the new Emperor of the Galra die while working on this project with the Princess of Altea. What will they think of me then?”

“That you are worthy and strong,” he replied with a smirk. His thoughts splintered around that idea. She _was_ worthy and strong. A powerful royal and brave leader. He hoped one day the entire universe would see that of her. That the future would see something come from the both of them.

They hadn’t spoken about a direct union between themselves, but he knew he wasn’t the only one contemplating it. They had their alliance, but there was the potential for more, not only between themselves, but by joining their houses. They could set the example, prevent any more fighting. He thought about it, he suspected she thought about it. He certainly knew Kolivan, his teams, and even Geeva’s thoughts on it. And in truth … he wanted it. He wanted more with her, he always did and suspected he always would. She was his everything in so many ways.

But his corrupted quintessence, that was what stopped him from ever broaching such a subject as marriage. His background as the witch’s weapon and all he had done in that position still haunted him. Allura still did not understand the full scope of what he’d been forced to do, and he wasn’t sure she ever would, short of taking a trip with him through The Way herself. The gentle intimacy they shared now sometimes felt as if he was stealing good things he did not deserve, stealing her, and he did not know how to bridge that, if it _could_ be bridged.

So he placed it from his mind for the time being. There was still a war to finish, a universe to bring peace to, and perhaps, once it was all over, he might try to find a way. If there was anything Allura had convinced him of, it was that nothing was impossible when they worked together. He had to hope that perhaps there might be a way for their future as well.

* * *

The Sincline ships were finished, and finally, _finally_ , they were ready for the first test to see if it really could pierce reality to find that layer of pure quintessence, or if it was all for not. They’d initiated their systems checks, prepared themselves as best they could. The lock on the quintessence field hidden in the ruins of Daibazaal sat before them, waiting. With steady motions, he and Allura eased forward.

He would see if all his deca-phoebs of planning and suffering would amount to anything at all.

It did.

All around them was nothing but light. Energy. It seeped in through Sincline’s shielding and for the first time in a long time, Lotor felt awake and energized, perfectly fine. It was as if he’d never had a poor day in his life, and all the lingering pains of his past and his body had been nothing more than a memory. He wanted to reach out with his quintessence, connect with everything that was around them. There was _so much_ of it, an endless amount.

“Allura,” he breathed, unable to express everything he thought and felt in the moment with the weak use of words.

“I know,” was all she could say as she stared around, as amazed as he was. “Lotor, I know.”

They flew, took samples, planned what they would do next because this _was_ a game-changer. This would change the way the universe worked. There would be no need to kill or destroy for quintessence. It was right here. It had always been right here, and he and Allura had managed to tap it. Soon they’d be able to share it. Peace was at hand.

Everything they’d worked for, everything they’d ever dreamed of was coming true.

He did not want to leave the quintessence field, but they needed to, not only for their own health, but they now needed to run tests on the quintessence they’d collected, report and document their findings so fellow scientists amongst the coalition could also begin running their experiments. It was thanks to Slav that they’d already countered the potential problem which might come about with breaking into the quintessent field and creating black holes which would destroy everything. They needed to know that the quintessence was safe. That what they were about to do would be good, and not create another Galra Empire and lead to still more destruction and death.

“There’s no way that will happen,” Allura said as she climbed out of the ship. “I can still feel it like it’s under my skin. It’s so much energy, I hardly believe it.”

“I know,” he said, unable to contain his excitement as he caved in to his need to use quintessence and twisted himself to the ground floor before reaching up to help Allura down the last few steps. “It’s incredible. More than I’d ever imagined.”

“That’s hard to believe,” she teased. “If not for your imagination, this would never have been possible.”

“It was little more than a dream,” he breathed as he held her waist between his palms once her feet were on the ground. Now that he was touching her he couldn’t make himself let her go. “They’ve all been dreams. I’d almost given up on all of them, if not for you.”

“We did this together.” Her eyes shown like stars. “I believe that anything we do together we can accomplish.”

Lotor smiled at her. “I’m starting to believe as well.”

Her smile morphed into a grin, and she threw her arms around him and pulled him into an enthusiastic kiss. It was like the icing on one of Hunk’s cakes, something simple and perfect. He could hardly believe it, but it was real. They’d done it together. They’d done _all of this_ together.

He wondered what more they would accomplish, in time.

They strolled into the bridge, nothing but smiles, and eagerly began relaying what they’d found to the Paladins, including, to Lotor’s surprise, Keith and a Galra he introduced as Krolia, his mother.

“It is an honor,” he told the woman, a fellow Blade he found out, and she could only bow low to him from where she stood with her sister Blades, his loyal team.

“We’ve done it,” Allura announced as she displayed some of their footage on the screens for everyone to see. “It was only a test flight and to collect samples, but we believe this will work. We’ve done it! We’ve tapped the quintessent field.”

“No more fighting over quintessence. It will never be a limited commodity again,” Lotor added, his chest swelling with hope and light for the future. “Peace is at hand.”

“You’re sure,” Shiro said, breaking the din of enthusiasm. “You really managed it?”

“We did,” Allura promised. “There are still the tests, as I’ve said, but yes! With the Sincline ships, we did.”

Shiro smiled, and no one, Lotor knew, understood what this meant more than the Black Paladin. They’d both suffered at the hands of the Galra Empire, both slaves that had escaped and risen above what had happened to them. Finding this way was a promise that they would never have to suffer such fates again.

And then Shiro’s face twisted in agony.

“Shiro?” Keith said, rushing to Shiro’s side, and Lotor cast a quick glance at Allura. She was already racing forward, hand raised and glowing blue with energy, but what happened next happened so quickly and so unexpectedly that it was too late to react. Shiro rose and shoved his palm against the center console and to Lotor’s shock, everything turned a horrible, agitated red and violet, the colors of a Galran virus hard at work and spreading quickly. Failsafe’s dropped, internal security protocols initiated and soon everyone was scrambling to avoid system laser fire, battle bots and the flood of alarms and lights to make the situation that much more complicated. Lotor sensed a deeper level to this, an unseen hand that was causing all of this to happen, but it had all happened too quickly. Too fast.

In the scramble to understand what was going on and to establish order in the chaos, he let his guard down. Something heavy and unyielding slammed into the back of his head and he staggered.

Pain. Darkness. The last thing he remembered seeing was Allura’s horrified face, his team’s alarm, and then nothing at all.

* * *

When Lotor awoke, it was with a mind-numbing headache he’d done nothing to earn and the certainty that he was not with the Paladins of Voltron anymore. Or, at least, he was not with Allura.

He was with Shiro, however, but he knew that look in the Black Paladin’s eyes. Knew the ichor of corrupted quintessence rippling through the Paladin like an unstoppable virus. He’d once worn that look, the one filled with nothing except the focus required to obey. This was not the same Shiro he’d met all that time ago, nor was it truly the one he’d known this morning. That man, however, had been little more than an image, a well-crafted one. Lotor had never thought the witch would sink so low, but then again, the lengths she’d placed him through alone were unspeakable. Perhaps it wasn’t a shock that this had happened.

It was his own fault for letting himself believe that the horrors she could inflict had at last come to an end. That was why he’d been blindsided. It was why this was happening. Shiro hadn’t come back after that initial fight with Zarkon. Instead an unknowing imposter had been sent in his place to spy, and ultimately to betray.

And yet, there was still a sense in which this man _was_ Shiro. He remembered all of the conversations they’d had, how stringently Shiro had fought the Galra with everything he had. How desperate and pained every action was because a terrible future they’d experienced first-hand was there if they didn’t stand there to stop it. He had no doubt that, whatever had happened, this man had not meant this. Had _never_ meant this.

It was why, once he’d realized what had happened, Lotor did not immediately attack and end the life of his kidnapper.

He made one attempt at conversation, but he was unsurprised when this Shiro said nothing, likely under Haggar’s orders, as was always the case. Silence filled the space between them, but it was different in quality than it had been in many deca-phoebs. Particularly when the shadow of a Galran battlecruiser covered them and he could feel the witch’s sour aura even from where he was. This had been different even when they’d faced each other on the Kral Zera. Then he’d been free and supported by allies he could count on to protect him if he needed protecting. Support him if he needed support.

There was none of that now. He’d been captured, and despite his powers, he lacked the allies he’d depended upon and he was about to face the one monster who had done the worst damage to his soul. A chill slid down his back like a shadow and all he could do was plan and prepare. It would take everything he had to defeat her. And he would. He _must_. There was no other option.

He had to face his final monster if he was to help birth a new era of peace.

They landed to find a clutch of Galran soldiers waiting, along with a few druids, and Lotor lifted his chin but said nothing. Outside the sound of a Voltron Lion roared as it searched for them. He wasn’t at all surprised to hear one of the druids give this false Shiro instructions to lead the Black Lion away. He was no fool, Keith would follow Shiro, and the fact that there were no resounding roars from more lions was enough to suggest that Keith had come alone, as he generally did.

Lotor forced his feet forward, but inwardly prepared himself.

He was not prepared when, upon entering the bridge, Haggar stood before him with her hood lowered. But it wasn’t the witch that had destroyed him, though she possessed the same clothing and skeletal hunch he’d grown accustomed to, despite how tall she stood. Her skin was brown instead of Galran purple, and although she possessed the same sharp red markings — Altean markings, he now realized — her eyes were no longer a glowing, horrid yellow, but a cool, controlled amber.

Lotor knew who she was even before she began speaking, her voice clearer and cleaner than the hoarse, tortured cackle it usually was. He’d seen pictures of her in the Castle of Lion’s archive. He’d seen this woman’s face when it was much younger and filled with scientific curiosity, smiles, and a need to discover and push forward like she had.

“Prince Lotor,” she said. “My son.”

She started to speak, but for the life of him, Lotor could barely make out a word she was saying. Her lips kept moving, but it was like something had filled his ears. Like the silence had stuffed itself in his ears, clogged him up as emotions he could barely contain began to boil within him, growing hotter and stronger and higher as she continued to speak. Explained that she was Honerva. Explained herself. Spoke to him calmly and coolly.

Like what she’d done to him did not exist in the heavy emotional baggage he carried. Every cool comeback he’d had planned, every controlled maneuver he’d considered telling this witch vanished as molten rage flooded his body and made every muscle tense with fury.

“No!” Lotor snarled, hackles rising as the silence abruptly broke, and a wave of sharp, electric quintessence sparking out for his body due to the strength of his rage. “I refuse to believe you, witch. Not after everything that has happened. Not after everything you’ve done to me!” 

“You must understand that the quintessence, when it changed me, shrouded any … maternal feelings I had for you,” she explained, her voice cool and steady. Unrelenting. The origin for every cruel thought and action that had ever led to the monster Haggar. “I remember now and have overcome its influence. And now that I have, I’ve found that you have carried on in my footsteps, finished everything I started so long ago. You’ve created a masterpiece and found a way to access the quintessence field, harness quintessence, my son—”

“I am _not_ your son, and you are no mother of mine!” Lotor snapped. “What mother has done the things you have done to me? Enslaved me? Corrupted me? Used me as your personal weapon and forced me to kill until my hands dripped with the blood of souls who did not deserve it. You bound me, muted me, tortured me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I was not myself, Lotor.”

“For five thousand deca-phoebs,” he carried on. “And five thousand before that. Your awareness now, after everything you have done and forced me to do means _nothing_ to me, witch!” Lotor ripped through his shackles and summoned both his swords before lining them with quintessent lightning. “And I will make sure you _never_ do anything like that to another ever again!”

Before she could say anything more, he launched at her. He saw red, and it struck him that he’d never been more furious than he was now in his life. He’d always hated her, her and Zarkon. But this was something else. The one person who haunted his worst nightmares and had destroyed him so thoroughly that he’d forced himself to forget _everything_ in order to protect the future now revealed herself to be his mother. To be the woman he’d always admired and looked up to as the ‘better’ half of his parentage. This woman whose work had advanced technology further than it had been advanced in millennia. _This woman_.

He’d hated his father, but the level of betrayal he felt now made that hatred seem little more than a candle flame to the sun now burning through him.

Unable to stop himself, he screamed as he attacked, anticipating her dodge and countering only in the nick of time. She was keeping ahead of him, if only just. He’d spent thousands of deca-phoebs watching her, studying her, perfecting everything she’d taught him out of a need for pure survival. But he’d learned, and more than that, he’d learned _her_. All of her moves, all of her maneuvers. He sliced with his swords and tore through the length of her robe. His hand sparked and she snarled when the sparks jumped from him to her just before she flashed away. If she meant to talk her way out of this one, he refused to let her. She moved fast and he moved faster. She pressed hard and he pressed _harder_.

Lotor would end this.

He was on the brink of it too when she flashed just under him, expecting him to come from the side as he had been. Instead he slammed both his hands down on her, sending her careening to the ground. She cried out and he saw her hands spark. He knew that attack and be braced himself, seeking cover.

“Enough!” she shouted before pulsing a devastating shockwave of energy from her body, knocking everything back. He’d anticipated well, but she was still outrageously powerful, and he slammed against a wall hard enough to see spots. “You’ve managed something I have never been able to accomplish myself. Now I will show you what can be done with such power. You and the Altean Princess lack vision. You think the universe will find peace now that you’ve tapped the most powerful substance in existence?” she laughed bitterly. “It will only cause more suffering. More war. With Sincline _I will fix it_.”

Alarmed, Lotor’s eyes widened and he twisted space to safety an instant before another shockwave flooded the area. When it had dissipated, she was gone, and dread filled his chest. Focusing, he felt out for her quintessence and was dismayed to find it was moving quickly to the other end of the ship, toward the hanger. An instant later a fighter launched from the bay in the direction of Voltron's last position before it vanished out of sight.

She was going after the quintessent field. After Sincline and Voltron. He needed to get back.

“Prince Lotor!” a voice called out, and to his shock and relief, it was Acxa’s. She and the rest of his team stormed in, laser rifles raised and blades drawn. “Prince Lotor!”

“Here, and I’m fine,” he said before twisting space to them. A glance down the hallway showed they’d taken care of Haggar’s soldiers and druids on their way. “Come, we must hurry.”

“What’s going on?” Ezor asked as they all ran down the hallway. “Shiro lost it and then kidnapped you!”

“It was Haggar. It’s always been Haggar,” he said. They dove into the shuttle and moved as quickly as possible. “Whatever she had done, she manipulated and used Shiro to spy on us; it explains so much. Haggar knows what we’ve accomplished and is after the quintessence rift. After Sincline. If she gets there and defeats Voltron, everything we’ve worked so hard for, the entire universe, is lost.”

If his team wasn’t already moving at top speed, they were now, and within moments they were in space, taking hyperspace jump after hyperspace jump as quickly as possible. All the while Lotor prayed that he’d make it back in time before Haggar — Honerva — finally took the last few things she could possibly take from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Thursday.


	22. Quintessence

Lotor hailed and hailed the Voltron Paladins, anything to warn them of the threat that was headed their way, but it was no use. They were too far away no matter how quickly he and his team traveled, and it was all he could do to force some semblance of calm when it was the last thing in the world he felt. Acxa reported that Princess Allura and the remaining Paladins had been attempting to stop the virus rampaging through the Castle, but she and the rest of his team hadn’t stayed and instead gone with Keith when it became clear that he would follow Shiro.

“After we arrived in the area, we split from Keith to come after you while he went after Shiro,” Acxa told him. “We’re not sure what happened to the Castle of Lions after we left.”

He wanted more, he wanted to keep squeezing them for information but he knew there was nothing more they could tell them. But his fear and his concern for Allura and the other Paladins was strong, especially with Keith away wherever the witch had lured him to. It was a worst-case scenario against Haggar. Voltron separated, he away from Sincline where it now sat vulnerably. He now had no doubt that the witch had used Shiro to spy on them, to study their work and had only waited until he and Allura had proved their work was successful. If she was headed for the Sincline ships and the rift, it meant she was confident she could use his ships.

And if she could use his ships the way he’d intended, create their secondary form, then they needed all of Voltron. He needed to be there, _now_ , so he could provide whatever aide possible. If it was the last thing he did, he would fight the witch. He had not come this far to fail the universe, his allies, Allura, now.

“We’re a jump away,” Acxa said as she initiated the final jump to Voltron’s last known position. “Drop now.”

They dropped out of hyperspace and came face-to-face with the most vicious battlefield Lotor had seen yet. His heart dropped and reality seemed to seize. He’d been right. There Haggar was, because it could only have been her, fighting four of the five Voltron Lions cruelly with the fully formed mech of Sincline, _his ships_.

And the witch was steadily defeating them. Destroying them. Without Keith and the Black Lion, they were severely disadvantaged. And watching Sincline move, the ship he’d created to aide Voltron and support the universe with quintessence needed for peace, and seeing its purpose so perverted made him sick to his stomach. It had been a powerful creation because it _needed_ to be. It was supposed to be a thing of good. A thing of peace.

It was so mighty now before him, and terrible in strength to behold. He watched as it thrashed the Green Lion brutally against the ruins of Daibazaal. This close, he could hear what the Paladins were saying.

They were screaming.

He was at the comms in an instant. “Paladins! Paladins, can you hear me?”

“Lotor?” Lance said, but his voice cut out as Sincline battered him against the Yellow Lion. Acxa was already flying forward, Zethrid in the copilot’s seat and firing volleys of light at his stolen creation. But the attacks did nothing. It was the same as if they’d shot at Voltron, their attacks had no effect.

Lotor’s eyes flashed across the battlefield, or what was left of it, and he was further horrified to see that Haggar had figured out how to pull Sincline from their reality and into the quintessence field and back again to gain the advantage. It was a dance, a beautiful dance, and Haggar was easily the superior.

“What do we do?” Ezor demanded, teeth gritted as Sassy echoed the sentiments for Narti so quickly the markings on the space caterpillar’s cheeks were little more than a blur. “How do we fight her? How do we stop this?”

“Contact Kolivan. Tell him what’s happened. Tell him to be prepared if Voltron cannot defeat Haggar. If Haggar should win, the colony might be the universe’s last hope and Kolivan needs to be ready should the need arise.”

“Why don’t you do it?” she asked.

“Because I’m not going with you. I’m going out there to do what I can to stop her and help the Paladins.”

“But she’s killing them,” Zethrid said, firm and alarmed. “She will kill you too!”

“Zethrid’s right,” Acxa agreed quickly. “Even if we lose Voltron, we can still regroup. Fight back somehow, but if you die—”

“No,” Lotor replied, gaze fixed ahead. “I made those ships, along with Princess Allura. Haggar is Honerva, the woman who bore me. I _must_ stop this, or I must die trying.”

The shuttle was startled into silence.

“She’s your mother?” Ezor exclaimed.

“Unfortunately,” he said darkly, hating that fact more than he hated anything else. Perhaps more than he’d hated Zarkon. Everything his own mother had done to him … the thought drove him to the brink of madness.

“Prince Lotor, this is suicide,” Acxa finally said, face tight. “If you go out there without Voltron fully formed, you will die.”

He looked to the women around him, the strongest, bravest, most loyal team, and he felt proud to have fought by their side. But he was determined. This was the witch, and she was destroying everything he’d worked so hard to bring about just as she’d destroyed him in the past. She would kill Allura given half the chance. And he could not sit back and do nothing when the princess and the Paladins were giving everything they had to fight his mother off.

“I must do this,” he said before looking out and focusing, reaching across the battlefield toward a familiar quintessence signature. “If I don’t make it back, it has been an honor to fight with you all.”

They reached for him, practically launched at him from all sides, but he used his quintessence and found himself in the vacuum of space, his helmet in place. He couldn’t spare a glance back as he flashed forward, locking his gaze on his next drop point and crossing space quickly, burning through the reserve of quintessence he had with as much efficiency as he could muster. Ahead of him the lions fought and thrashed, rallied again and again though it was clear their energy was failing. That they were becoming battered and weakened, slow. He prayed for the welfare of all the Paladins, but his eyes never tore away from the Blue Lion, the one which was arguably receiving the brunt of the attack.

On the comms he could hear the rest of the Paladins shouting, afraid and brave as they struggled to do what little they could to Haggar and Sincline without the Black Lion’s support or the full power of Voltron.

But it wasn’t enough, and he watched in horror as Haggar aimed the blaster cannon at Allura’s lion at close range before Allura had time to recover, and fired.

The comms erupted for a moment, and Lotor had to blink the flash of light from his sight as he stared at the Lion where it had landed against a meteor. The Blue Lion did not move and the connection Lotor had with Allura went slack.

Panic flooded Lotor and he didn’t care how much quintessence he wasted to get to her, he threw everything he had into making one final jump so long as it brought him to her side. Reality twisted, his vision darkened, and the next moment his body shook with fatigue but his feet hit a floor and the lights around him were a weak blue, but they _were_ blue. A body sat limp in the pilot’s seat, motionless and so slight despite everything she was capable of. Distantly he could hear all of the Paladins yelling, Keith’s voice abruptly there and loud, the roar of a fresh Lion joining the fray and taking on Haggar. He heard them screaming for Allura, trying to find out if she was alive and safe, but their voices were falling on deaf ears.

His hands were around her shoulders, shaking her, before he even realized he’d moved.

“Oh no,” Lotor said as he stared at Allura’s limp form in the Blue Lion’s pilot seat. Scented blood in the air and heard the faintest rattle of breath. His body turned cold as icy fear threatened to undermine his control and ruin him. He pulled her out of the seat and into his arms as he inspected her with terrified eyes and shaking hands.

“Allura?” he called, hoping his voice would rouse her. Needing to hear her voice. See her eyes. “Allura, can you hear me? Open your eyes!” 

“Lo … tor,” Allura sighed, eyelids fluttering ever so slightly, her eyes clouded and unfocused, even as she struggled to push him away. “Run.”

“No. No, I’m not running,” he said as he clung to her. Blood welled up from her mouth, and he could feel that her lifeforce was fading, the quintessence within her weak and dying from the fight she and the other Paladins had engaged in with Honerva. From her helmet she could hear the others speaking. Coming to each other. Calling out for each other. Demanding to know what was happening and if everything was okay.

Everything was not okay. Allura was dying.

And he could do nothing to save her.

“Don’t die,” he whispered as he stroked her hair, as if his plea would stop the onset of death. “Please, Allura.”

She didn’t hear him, he could see that clearly enough. Her quintessence was little more than a slow roll of fading energy pulsing in time with her heart. But even that was coming too weak, too slow and he knew she didn’t have long.

Frantically he cast his thoughts out for solutions, anything to save her, but nothing was immediately present. He couldn’t bring her to the Castle of Lions, Haggar would never allow it and would destroy them well before they made it that far. He couldn’t take her to the other Paladins because there was little they could do to help her either. What he needed was a healer, but Allura was the only healer. Her quintessence was all but designed to—

His thoughts skittered to a halt, and he lifted his hand and stared at it, torn.

He could heal. He’d always been able to heal himself. It had been a skill he’d needed to hone and develop while under Haggar’s control. But his quintessence was so corrupted that every time he’d tried to use it to interact with another, he lost control or something went wrong. It still glowed violet instead of the pure Altean blue. It still crackled and sparked with danger instead of soothing grace. For so long all it had been able to do was hurt and kill.

But ever since returning from Oriande, since they had worked so long and hard to create the Sincline ships, as volatile as his quintessence was, it almost seemed to soften or restrain itself around her. When they’d first worked out their method of working on Sincline, he’d been worried that she would not be able to convert and use his quintessence because of its corrupted nature. But she could. She had. It didn’t harm her as it had everything else, and he didn’t know if it was something he was capable of subconsciously or if he’d changed in Oriande, or if she’d changed, or if it was all her. All he knew was that it was different when it interacted with her. It didn’t harm her.

Maybe, just maybe, _he_ could heal her.

His hand drifted closer toward her, and yet he hesitated because if he was wrong, this could kill her. His quintessence was fine when it was only he who used it, but when it interacted with another …

Allura’s heart fluttered, then stilled, and Lotor realized he didn’t have time anymore to torment himself like this. It would work or it wouldn’t, or she would die otherwise. And if that happened, he would find a way to twist space into Sincline’s cockpit and initiate the self-destruct he’d rigged, just in case, with himself and Haggar in it. He would dare her to try to stop him this time when she’d taken away the most precious person in the universe.

Lotor tugged off Allura’s helmet and placed his hand on her cheek. It was warm and bloodstained and pale. He pressed his brow to hers and breathed slowly, calming his mind and heart. Visualizing as best he could.

Then he pressed his quintessence into her.

It tugged against his hold as it always did, but with all the practice he’d had with her he wrangled it in and set about finding all the damage that had been done to her and fixing it. And there was a significant amount. She was heavily bruised, her energy was deathly low, there were broken bones and weeping wounds, but he worked quickly, as quickly as he was able as he poured whatever he had into helping her. Slowly her cells began to respond and knit together. Slowly the bruising slowed and lowered, the bleeding stopped.

But her quintessence. It was still so weak.

“Please, Allura,” he begged. “Not yet. There’s still so much left we must do. Don’t leave yet.”

He gripped her hands in his and called to her with his words, his heart, his soul, and his quintessence.

“Fight. One more time, come back to fight. I will be here with you to do it, just please come back.”

For a moment he didn’t feel anything. Her body was fine, but her heart continued to give a faint, pale attempt at life. She’d fought so hard already, defended as strongly as she’d been able. It was because of her that they were even here now, alive, free, the universe on the brink of true peace. And yet this was happening. She was slipping away, right at the end, no matter what he did, and deep sorrow and pain filled him.

“I don’t know if I can do this without you,” he confessed. “Please, my love. If not for me, then do it for all the people who you’ve saved. For all the people you have yet to meet who need you as much as I do. I know it’s a lot to ask, but please. _Come back_.”

While his quintessence was still a sharp violet, it suddenly curled around the both of them. Connected them. Reached straight from the heart of him into her own.

And like a miracle, Allura’s eyes opened.

The energy in her body which had flickered to life briefly before fading finally _at last_ flared. With a jolt, her body lunged up against his and he clung to her as relief flooded his blood. A series of near-violent coughs stormed out of her chest. There were pained, confused tears in her eyes, but all he could do was smile and wipe them away and give broken, desperate laughs of relief. She was alive. She was here with him, with all of them. Her hands clung to his.

“You saved me.”

He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or not, dreaming all of this, but if he was he didn’t want this blessing to stop. “It was all I could think to do.”

Her lips wobbled, then she pulled him down and clung to him unlike anyone had ever held him before. Like if she let go, her world would fall apart and she’d be lost.

It was what he felt when he held her.

“Thank you,” she whispered fiercely. “Thank you!”

“Anything for you,” he told her, caressing her cheek so tenderly, and he meant it. Anything for Allura, Princess of Altea. But explosions just outside the Blue Lion ensured that this happy moment couldn’t last, not right now, and reality sunk in again. His brow furrowed. “But we’re not done. There’s still something we must do.”

Her eyes hardened as she realized what he meant, and she looked around him to the fight raging outside. Beyond the Black Lion was doing its best to hold off Sincline, and it was a valiant effort, but there was no denying it was only a matter of time before it was defeated too. They needed Voltron. All of Voltron. She let him go but gave his hand a tight squeeze.

“Stay with me,” she said. “I don’t know if I can do this without you.”

“I won’t leave,” he promised, rising to stand at her back, gripping the sides of her seat. His fingers brushed her shoulders and with a shove of her hands, her Lion roared with life once again. A series of cheers erupted. Keith was quick to demand Voltron, and everyone was ready and waiting once she quickly assured them that she was fine again.

“Ready?” she asked him as she flew toward the other Lions.

His face tightened. “I’m ready.”

“Then let’s end this once and for all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, everyone. This time next week the ride ends. I hope you're all ready :]
> 
> Next post on Monday.


	23. Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the final confrontation. One last monster to face. I hope you all enjoy :]

The fight with Honerva was as Lotor expected it. Vicious. Brutal. Over the comms they shared with the Sincline mech, he listened as the witch berated them, hated them. Told them of the world she was going to bring about and how, once she was in control, the universe would be properly safe. She would give it true order. No one would fight because _she_ would be the ultimate authority.

“And you will destroy everything. Crush the soul from life itself,” Lotor had shot back. “As you have done to so many others. As you once forced me to do for you.”

It was only when he spoke that she lost her composure and control.

“The quintessence drove me to that point!” she snapped. “If I had been in my right mind, that would never have happened!”

“Your desire for power made you that way, and despite having your ‘right mind’ now, you still press on as you ever have as Haggar,” he shot back. “You still seek to rule and control as Zarkon did!”

“You’ll see,” Honerva snarled desperately as she’d pushed them and Voltron harder than ever. “You’ll all see!”

That was when she entered the quintessence field.

“We have to go after her,” Allura shouted. “Who knows what she’ll do with so much quintessence at hand?”

Lotor agreed. Anything could happen, and with a practitioner of Honerva’s level, it would only be worse than anything they could possibly imagine. So they followed, and once again he and Allura and now all of the Paladins were bathed in that pure white light. The weakness he’d had from the long travel to get to Allura, then to save her, vanished as he was replenished. He felt strong again. Powerful, as if he could do anything here. It was invigorating for the Paladins. It was disconcerting for him because if they were as strong as this now, what could be said of Honerva? How revitalized was his mother, and what would happen now that she was again in the quintessence field where the quintessence could drive her insane once more?

They fought viciously, and all Lotor could do was hold on tight and do whatever he could to provide aide. But as he’d feared, Honerva was more skilled with quintessence than they were, more driven. Zarkon had been powerful, there was no mistake, but Honerva was fierce and vicious, willing to do whatever it took to succeed, employing every method she had at her disposal. The Paladins were keeping up, but he noticed that it was more than that. They were fighting too hard, their systems were starting to show strain, strain Voltron could not continue to handle.

Allura saw it too.

“We need to leave,” she suddenly said.

“But I feel fine, everything’s fine,” Lance said. “We can keep going.”

“No, Allura’s right,” Hunk suddenly said. “We’re going way harder than we ever have. We can’t take much more of this.”

“But we can’t just leave her here,” Pidge said. “She’ll just come after us again. If we can’t defeat her right now, then all of this won’t mean anything.”

“How are we supposed to beat her?” Keith said. “While she’s in Sincline, she’s equal to Voltron. I don’t like to admit it, but she’s kicking our ass. We can’t keep this up, but she has to be stopped.”

“I’ll stop her.”

Allura jerked in her seat and the comms went quiet, but even as they did a thought grew in his mind. He had a plan. It was all he could think of to save the Paladins and stop Honerva.

“Lotor, I don’t think—”

“I will stop her,” he said, readying himself before stepping away. “But you’re right, Allura. You all need to leave.”

Allura stared at him, eyes wide. “Lotor—”

“You and Voltron cannot stay here. It isn’t safe for you. But we need Sincline, and I am the only one who can reach it.”

“But the quintessence,” she said, rising from her seat to come after him. “If you’re not careful it will taint you as it has tainted her. As it’s trying to corrupt us. Lotor, please, you don’t have to do this. We’ll find another way.”

“She is my mother,” he told her, getting to the heart of it before gently taking her by the shoulders. “She’s the monster that already corrupted me. If I don’t see this through, I will never be able to move on. I know it. She is the final shadow on my past and if I do not confront her now and cannot take back this one thing, I will never be able to rest.”

Her lips pressed thin and her brow furrowed. “You don’t have to do this. We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way. She has Sincline and access to the quintessence field. If she isn’t stopped now, then I can’t be sure we will ever stop her.” He kissed her, and it was so sweet and so tender and he couldn’t help sharing his heart now when he might not ever come back from this. But he had to. “I love you, no matter what happens.”

She swallowed, and he knew it was hard for her, but she managed to say, “I understand. I just … I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to leave you with her, not for a moment after everything she’s done.”

Lotor sighed and wondered if it was possible to love her more than he already did. He touched her cheek.

“I know I cannot promise,” he said before he took her hands in his. “But know that I will do everything in my power to return to you.”

“Please,” she whispered, squeezing his hands tightly. “Please do.”

He smiled.

“As my Princess commands.”

Gently he let her hands go, and before he could decide otherwise, he reached for the quintessence all around him, and twisted space. One moment he was within the Blue Lion’s cabin. The next he saw Voltron from a distance away. It was glorious like that, strong and powerful in the light of the quintessence. A god made to bring forth peace. To defend in the right hands. Princess Allura’s and the Paladins' capable hands.

He did not know if this was the last he would see of it, but if it was, he was grateful. He knew, whatever happened, the universe was in good hands.

And that thought was all he needed to tear his eyes away from it as it vanished from sight. With nothing to distract him, he trained his eyes on the mech he’d made to help the universe and twisted space again. The inside of the cockpit surrounded him. It was quiet here, except for the heavy breathing of Honerva in the pilot’s seat.

While there had been that brief encounter earlier after his kidnapping, it felt like this was the first time they’d been alone together in deca-phoebs. Him and the witch.

His mother.

She stared at him as if his sudden appearance hadn’t been unexpected. “What do you hope to do here, Lotor?”

The fact that she hadn’t outright attacked him was promising, if just. He flashed to one of Sincline’s interior holds and was pleased to find that she’d followed him. They could do this face-to-face, with no interruptions.

“I will stop you,” he said firmly. “This will end here. I cannot let you go back. I cannot let you continue a reign of violence and cruelty.”

“You don’t understand,” she snapped, eyes narrowed and furious. “Everything I’ve done, I was corrupted that’s true, but it all stemmed from a desire to end violence in the universe!”

Rage roared through him as he thought of everything she’d done to him alone, let alone the rest of the universe.

“It stemmed from your lust for power!”

Her eyes widened, but he wasn’t done.

“Perhaps I could see what you thought of as an end of violence, but I have been to Oriande. I have learned from the Ancients. Death and violence do not protect. It does not support life, it destroys it. You must have known that, once!”

“You’re a fool,” she said, hands clenched at her side. She’d yet to make a move, and neither had he. They were locked here together in an ideological stalemate he had not anticipated. “You know nothing of peace or what it takes to keep that peace! Yes, we chose violence. And we were cruel. But for those within the Empire, those who obeyed, they _lived_.”

“It is not enough to live,” he countered. “True peace allows for more than that. It allows everyone to live and thrive. Your way ensured only one people thrived, the Galra, and only the way you saw fit. Everyone else was to be sacrificed in the pursuit of total dominance. That is not peace. That is destruction of the worst order. So much has been lost because of you and Zarkon. So many people have been killed, entire cultures obliterated, all for power.”

“For quintessence!” she snapped back. “And the ability to ensure that those worthy of survival _did_ survive!”

Lotor snarled. “And who determines who’s worthy? Everyone is worthy!”

“You are the only one who is worthy!”

Lotor was so shocked to hear that that he fell into silence. The witch could only continue.

“My son, my only child, _you_ are the only one who is worthy. The universe was meant for you, and once I’m done here, I will ensure that it knows you are its master. Voltron will be yours. Everyone will bow before you. You’re the only one who has ever been worthy of the throne, and everything I do and have done has been done to ensure that it will _always_ belong to you.”

The fury that bubbled up from within him came from a place he had never known before. It was the thing of darkness. Of blackness. It was everything that had crafted him as Dumah.

Lotor exploded.

“Everything you’ve done to me?” Unbidden, a thought arose in his mind. An idea so fitting it swept all others away. He would never have been able to do it outside of the quintessence field, but here? With so much at his fingertips he felt as if he were drowning in power?

His hand flared with energy and he launched himself forward.

“I will show you _everything_ you have done to me.”

And he did.

He must have surprised her because he met no resistance, and the moment his hand touched her he let his memories flow, _all of them_. He did not hold back. He gave her his memories, all the ones he forgot, all the ones of her, everything before his capture, during, and after and he made sure to include all of his emotion and pain. Every hopeless thought and fear. Every bit of hate he’d ever had for the Galra, for Zarkon, for Sendak, and most of all for _her_.

And he relived it with her.

She screamed and howled a sound so broken and horrid that it would have destroyed him if he hadn’t been prepared, but he had. He’d done this before. He’d done this twice. One because he lived it, second because of The Way. He knew what each memory was, had felt its bite enough to know he could endure. But she had not. She’d never seen or experienced anything like this before.

He knew he’d beaten her when it ended. She collapsed to her knees while he remained standing and stable. Her hands clenched around her arms. Her hood had fallen back and her eyes were pin-pricked and her face was stricken.

“I did that to you,” she whispered, her body shaking violently. “I did all of those unspeakable things to you.”

“Yes,” he said, and there was more fire in his voice than he’d meant. But hearing her say it, hearing that from her mouth unleashed a lingering bubble of resentment. Of righteousness. Yes. _She had done this to him_. His own mother. “To me and so many others.”

She sobbed and tears streamed down her cheeks. This woman dropped her head before him.

“Do as you see fit, Lotor.” Her voice was so low he could barely hear it, but she gave the effort all the same. “If anyone deserves justice, it is you.”

Lotor’s jaw clenched as he stared down at this woman, at Honerva, because that was all she was now. Not Haggar, the High Priestess. That had been stripped away from her; her Haggar to his Dumah. The witch was a part of her but no longer who she was, not entirely. With a thought, he summoned his blades. They grew, long and solid in his hands, ready to strike. He could do this. He’d killed his father. He’d killed Sendak. He’d killed so many people, Lotor was certain that here, right at the end of everything before the worst monster of his life, he _could kill her_. She would let him, he knew it. He could feel it.

He could end this. She never had to come back. Without her the universe was safer, no one _wanted_ her to come back. _He_ did not want her back. She could meet her end, and he would do it gladly. The universe would thank him.

That was the thing that gave him pause, the one thought that undid all of his rage. He _wanted_ to kill her. He wanted vengeance. She’d even asked for him to pass judgment. Death was what she deserved. He wanted it _so_ badly.

Lotor lowered his blades.

“The evil you’ve done to the universe is unforgivable,” Lotor finally said as he looked at the small, broken form of the woman who had tortured and tormented him all his life. The woman who’d been driven mad by quintessence and had lost herself to it. The woman who was his mother. It was hard to look at her. Like this, saner than she had ever been in the last ten thousand deca-phoebs, she looked Altean. She looked like an older, weathered version of the images of Honerva that he’d once seen when he was so very young. But despite the physical change, the taint was still there. There was a part of her that was still Haggar – would always _be_ Haggar. That very well might never change, and after everything she had done to him, he could not see past that.

“You will kill me, then,” she said softly, unable to look him in the eyes. Honerva grew smaller there before him, shoulders thin and small, accepting her fate. “I do not blame you. It is everything I deserve. You more than anyone deserves revenge.”

“And you would not stop me if I decided to take it?”

“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I would not.”

His fists clenched around his blades but still, he did not raise them.

“I will not kill you,” Lotor finally said. “There has been enough killing. There has been enough pain. It is an endless cycle, and it is one I will break.”

Honerva sucked in a quick breath as her head jerked up, eyes wide with disbelief and surprise. Hope. “My son—”

“But I do not forgive you,” he said tightly, squaring his shoulders as he faced his demons. “And I’m not sure I can. What you did—” Lotor’s throat squeezed and he had to steady himself with a breath as he thought of the millennias this woman had spent torturing him, attempting to drive the light out of him and corrupt his goodness. Of all the people she’d tortured when she hadn’t been torturing him. Of all the people she’d made him torture for her. “What you did, to me and so many others, is unspeakable.”

“You will … imprison me, then?” she asked, voice shattered though she did not cry or complain. It was only filled with heavy acceptance. “Enslave me?”

A flare of hot fury almost undid Lotor in that moment, and he had to dig his sharp claws into his palms, focus on the pain to force his mind into the present and not the scars of his own slavery.

“I _will not_ enslave you,” he said steadily. “I will never enslave another soul. But you have asked me to pass judgment on you, and you cannot remain as you are now.”

“Then what will you do?”

Lotor did not speak his answer. He dismissed his swords to instead reach within himself for the knowledge of the Ancients. He could not kill her — _would not kill her_. So it was this. It had to be. It was the only way.

Using the focus she’d long ago trained him to possess, he placed his attention on her, sensed the shape and feel of her quintessence, and a small unbidden part of him ached at what he found. It was so beaten and misshapened, ravaged and changed. So little of it pulsed with Honerva’s natural energy, so overwhelmed by corruption. It was many times worse than his own.

Quintessence had destroyed her. Now he made sure, with little more than a thought here in this quintessence-rich place, that it would never do so again.

She gasped, feeling the change, and by then he was already pulling away.

“What have you done?”

“I’ve taken away your quintessent abilities, Honerva,” he said. “You will no longer be able to hurt others this way, nor will you yourself be hurt. Not ever again. It’s over. Quintessence will hold no further boon or burden for you.”

Honerva fell forward and to his immense surprise, wept. He didn’t know what it was for, sorrow, anger, or relief, but all he could do was stand before her and bear witness. This was the price of his decision. The judgment she’d asked from him.

“What happens now?” Her voice was little more than a broken whisper.

“We go back,” he replied. “I cannot allow you freedom, not after everything. But you will not be treated unfairly.”

“And what am I to do? Waste away?”

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “We will find out, in time.”

With little prompting, he led her to the side of the hold where he bound her wrist and told her to sit. He wasn’t worried that she would leave or try anything. She’d been defeated, and he doubted she’d lift a hand against him ever again. Instead, he went to the pilot’s seat. Punched in commands. The quintessence field glittered and glowed with promise.

He was eager to leave it.

The darkness of space was a balm to his eyes once he emerged from the field. Voltron was there, ready and waiting, sword and shield raised. He immediately lowered all weapons and opened the comms.

“Allura?”

Her voice was sharp and quick, high with tension and hope. “Lotor?”

“It’s me,” he confirmed quickly. “It’s me, Allura.”

“You defeated her?” Keith asked. “Is it over?”

“It’s over now,” he said. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, the greatest of his personal monsters defeated. “We won.”

* * *

With Sincline back in his possession and Honerva finally subdued, all of the stress and tension he’d held on his shoulders seemed to lift and leave him on the brink of dizziness and fatigue despite having come from the quintessence field completely rejuvenated. He’d moved with Voltron back to the Castle of Lions where his team, Krolia, and Coran were all waiting for them.

Of course, he predicted the Paladins' reactions when he helped Honerva out of the cockpit. Keith moved quickly with Allura, both having left the unconscious body of Shiro on a gurney with bayards raised and scowls on their faces. They’d only stopped when he’d raised a hand.

“Enough,” he told them, waiting impartially as Honerva pulled her robes closer around her shoulders with her eyes trained downward, pale and thin as if one touch would shatter her to pieces. “I’ve ended the matter. She has been judged and punished. More would only be cruelty.”

“But she has to pay for everything she’s done! To Shiro! To you!” Keith shouted. “What’s to stop her from doing more now that she’s here. You haven’t even restrained her!”

“He took away my ability to manipulate quintessence,” Honerva said quietly, still not looking at any of them. “I couldn’t harm you even if I wanted to now.”

“And do you?” Princess Allura demanded, still tense and ready to fight.

“No.” The admission seemed to make the old Altean shrink and sink into herself. Like this she looked like her age was catching up to her rapidly, now that the quintessence that had sustained her for so long had at long last been cut off. “Please. No more. I don’t … I don’t want any more.”

“The only way I will allow you to stay here is within a cell and under guard,” Allura decreed, face hard but she slowly lowered her bayard. “It’s more than you deserve.”

Honerva didn’t say anything, but she did give one small nod. He motioned for his team to escort Honerva to the cell, and although she glanced up at him as if to say something, she kept her silence and left wordlessly. Everyone watched her, but Allura was the one to ask.

“What happened?”

“I shared my past with her,” he admitted, glancing away. “If how she responded to it is any indication, I don’t doubt that she is my mother, nor that she would have done any of this if the quintessence hadn’t corrupted her. Once she saw my life, she surrendered and asked me to judge and punish her.”

“And you took away her connection to quintessence,” she finished. Lotor nodded.

“She is old and she is tired, and although her ambitions drove her down the path she ended up upon … there’s a sense in which she was a victim to the quintessence as well. It does not excuse anything she has done, not in the least. But it does not mean she deserves to be further tortured by it either. There are other ways in which she will make amends. She is harmless now.”

“I still think it’s a good idea to keep a close eye on her,” Lance said and the rest of the Paladins were quick to agree.

“Then please do. She’s harmed you as much as I. It is within your rights to do such. But we are entering a new era. I don’t want it to begin with more violence and cruelty. She will be treated fairly. That is all. I have already punished her.”

“It just doesn’t seem like enough, after everything she’s done,” Keith grunted. Lotor sighed.

“No one knows that more than I.”

The silence that followed that statement was both telling and profoundly understood. If anyone had a right to judge the woman who’d torn the universe apart, it was he. And he had judged her. He’d made the decision. Lotor didn’t think there would come a time when he would ever forget that moment when he could have killed her. When he could have rid the universe of her existence permanently.

But there had been enough killing. And he’d passed the tests of Oriande. If he had understood that life was the answer, and not death, then it only made sense to apply such wisdom, no matter how difficult. He was a leader. These were the decisions he would have to make from now on. It did not settle him, but he knew, in the end, it was the right thing.

Slowly the others left, intent on their responsibilities. This impromptu fight after such a massive success had taken it out of all of them, and it was no surprise that they were all left listless and on edge. Allura took his hand and squeezed it, snagging his attention. Her eyes had softened, and any expectation of rage for his decision was not there.

“I have to see to Shiro but meet me later.”

Lotor took her hand and pressed it to his lips. It hadn’t been more than a varga ago he’d thought her dead. So much had happened today. He felt as if a lifetime had passed since he’d awoken. A successful test of Sincline, the accessibility of the quintessence field, his capture, the revelation of Honerva, saving Allura, the fight in the quintessence field, and then his triumph over his mother. It was so much and yet here he was, still somehow standing despite it all. Perhaps it was the breadth of his experiences or his indomitable will. His dreams and ambitions.

More likely, it was the woman before him. This woman who’d found him, saved him, and shown him goodness when there’d been nothing but dark silence.

“Until then, Princess.”

She flashed him a tender smile before heading off with Shiro and Keith toward the medical bay. Narti fell in at his side, Sassy’s markings flashing a quick question about his health.

“I’m fine,” he promised. “I just need to rest.”

But not yet. He contacted Kolivan to assure his second-in-command that everything was under control. That the mission had been a success. That Haggar had been defeated.

“That’s all then,” the Galra said, almost with a sigh. “She was our biggest threat in the war to win back the universe. There are other minor threats, but we can fight them and win. We have quintessence. Voltron. The Coalition, and the alliance between yourself and Princess Allura. We’ve all but won.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Lotor said, but he felt it too. The changing tides. “We will say such things once we _have_ succeeded. Let’s not tempt the fates.”

A rare smirk slipped across Kolivan’s face. “Of course. But on the day—”

“The Blade of Marmora will finally be disbanded,” Lotor finished. “Or made into something peaceful. Something which can protect and provide aid.”

“I look forward to it.”

“As do I.”

After his discussion with Kolivan, he contacted Galran and Coalition representatives and issued orders. Now was not the time to become lax and complacent. It was the time to rally. They were almost there. Just a little more, and the fight would at last be over. They could go home and live their lives without fear or danger.

By the time he was done, Allura commed everyone in the castle to let them know that they’d managed to find Shiro’s spirit, which had been in the Black Lion this whole time, and placed it in the clone body successfully. He was alive, and this time it _was_ the real Shiro. The wonders never ceased, and he prayed that this good news would be the start of a well of good fortune for the future.

Much as he wanted to find his room, collapse into his bed and sleep for an age, he bullied his tired body toward his and Allura’s favorite viewing galley where she was already waiting for him. The lights were dim when he entered, with only the stars ambiance to outline their forms. She’d stripped out of her armor and now wore nothing but her base layer, and he was quick to do the same. It was another weight that had been literally lifted from his shoulders. She sat curled on a sofa, and eagerly he let himself ease down beside her where she pressed against him, linking their arms and resting her head against his shoulder. She was so warm, so soft and strong that it was a wonder he didn’t drop off right that moment. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

“I could sleep forever like this,” she confided with the softest of sighs. Her body melted against his, and he shamelessly did the same.

“Don’t tempt me,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to her brow before breathing her in. She smelled of sweat and smoke, but beyond that was still that gentle floral scent that he could never get enough of. That and the scent that was all her. Warm and good.

She chuckled at him, and the sound was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. Silence fell after that, but it was a good silence. Companionable and gentle. Welcoming and enticing him to take his just reward and close his eyes.

“That was a brave decision. A merciful one,” Allura said quietly, rousing him from the near doze he’d almost fallen into. “The way you handled Honerva. Your mother. I’m not sure I could have done what you did, not after everything she had done.”

“You would have,” Lotor said quietly, sparing her the first smile he’d been able to call forth since this entire debacle began. “If anyone could find the strength, it’s you.” His smile quirked at the edges as he reached for her. “You saved me, after all.”

“Well, you were quite stubborn in the beginning,” she teased before her eyes softened and she sighed, hugging him closer to her. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, Lotor. You made everything happened. You made the possibility of the future a reality.”

“I respectfully disagree, Princess,” he said. “It was you. It was always you. _You_ started this. You stood up against Zarkon. You lead Voltron.” His voice softened. “You saved me.”

The tender look she gave him made his heart swell. “We did it together.”

He smiled at her as his eyes lingered on the stars and the universe beyond. A universe filled with peace. “That, I am willing to agree to. Together. We did it together.”

“As I hope we’ll do a great many things together,” she added. “There’s so much that’s possible now. There’s still much we must do, of course, but … the future is possible now.”

“And I will willingly trade places with you. I want to make your dreams a reality.”

She smiled at him. “Lotor, you already are.”

The look she gave him was filled with such painful honesty that he knew it wasn’t a lie, it could never be a lie no matter if he tried to find one, and he did not want to. Gently he maneuvered them so they were facing each other, their bodies close, their lips close, their hearts even closer. It was so hard to believe, after everything that had happened, but it was true and it was real.

“To the future,” he whispered.

“To the future,” she agreed. “Filled with peace and light and a time without suffering. A time of love and kindness.” She stared at him before slowly touching his cheek, the caress achingly soft. “Lotor, I love you.”

His eyes watered and although he’d … he’d _suspected_ , this was the first time she’d said it. Her, the most incredible person in the world.

She loved him. Despite everything he’d been and all the things he’d done. Maybe even because of them.

Lotor kissed her, and in that moment, he finally let himself believe that, yes, this was real, and the time of peace they’d both worked so hard for _had_ come. The time he’d always dreamed of was at hand. There would be peace and prosperity for all. Love and kindness. No one would have to suffer. No one would have to hide or be afraid.

He broke away, suddenly filled with glory at the idea. He smiled at her as he basked in the need to share the one secret he’d kept hidden for so long. The Blade’s most guarded secret.

“You must come with me,” he said. “Once everything has calmed down and the universe is truly safe, there is somewhere I want to take you.” He thought of Geeva, sweet, kind Geeva. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Where is it?” she asked, eyes wide and curious. “Who is it?”

“It is a surprise, but I promise, it is a good one. The best one.”

“Well, now I must know!” she exclaimed before giving him a small pout when he didn’t relent.

“It will be worth it,” he promised as he relaxed against her. Lotor smiled. “It’s all been worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All that's left is the epilogue now. I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far, and you'll like how everything rounds out.
> 
> Final chapter on Thursday!


	24. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are everyone. The last chapter. The epilogue. I hope you've enjoyed the ride I've taken you on and that you'll like how it all wraps up. I want to thank everyone who has kudoed and commented (you're champs!) and a special thank you to paperthinskies for helping/educating me about the signing I used in the story. Additionally, I've gone back and fine-tuned some stuff and fixed some typoes so the story is as clean as I can make it currently.
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading Flicker Fade Flare and I hope you enjoy the ending!

Lotor stood before the Castle of Lions where it now sat permanently within the lands of Oriande and breathed in the gentle breeze and soft scents of the mythical land. He savored the gentle quiet of his home as gazed out across the horizon and toward the stars beyond. A universe all before his eyes.

The gentle quiet was broken by the soft grunt and telling whine of the baby in his arms, and Lotor’s heart warmed at the sight of his little girl, young and beautiful and pure as starlight. 

“Hello, my darling,” he cooed as he gently bounced the warmth against his chest. “Did you just wake up? And just as your mother stepped away? That’s my princess.”

The little girl gentled and cooed for a moment before her eyes slid shut again. He chuckled at her. “Well, if you must.”

Footsteps behind him made him smile as he turned to face his wife. Allura’s smile was all beauty and goodness and strength as she reached for their daughter.

“What lies have you been telling her? I was only gone for a moment, but I saw you muttering something,” Allura said as she stroked the girl’s soft cheek.

“She awoke briefly while you were away. I told her I understood she was merely waiting for you to leave,” he teased as he wrapped an arm around Allura and curled in close to his little family.

It had not been easy. Despite removing Honerva from power and wresting another chunk of the universe back from the clutches of tyrants, it was still three deca-phoebs before every sizable threat had been met and countered. There had been close calls. There had still been suffering. Still been losses, but not on the scale which the Galra Empire had once ruled.

Then finally, the final Galra commander had surrendered. A Galactic Coalition had been created and documents and treaties were signed. There would be no more fighting. It was over. It was truly, completely over.

And he and Allura had been thanked with more gratitude than he could possibly ever believe.

The first few deca-phoebs after that were rocky to say the least. New governments were developed, systems were tested, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. The Paladins and the Earthlings were quick to offer whatever assistance they could, integrating completely with the rest of the universe once they understood the larger universe was there to greet them, and that several of their own were now heroes whose names would go down in lore and never be forgotten.

The Blade of Marmora was disbanded and reformed as an organization committed to providing relief and quintessence to those places across the universe still ravaged by what the Galra Empire had once done. Keith spent a great deal of time there while Kolivan and Krolia became Galran representatives to the Galactic Coalition.

To his shame, it took Lotor longer than he’d meant for it to to finally bring Allura to the quantum abyss, and then to the colony. He’d sent word ahead, and the Alteans had been waiting for them when he landed a Sincline ship. He’d been with Allura through so many times, many good and many bad, but he’d never seen her weep as hard as she had once she realized that not only were her people still alive, but that everything that had happened to him had been purely to keep what remained of her culture — their culture — alive, no matter the cost.

“You great, big, beautiful idiot!” she’d sobbed before taking his face between her hands and kissing him as hard as she could. His cheeks had been traced with tears, but he had not minded, not in the slightest. He’d dreamed of this, wanted to share this with her for so long. To make the universe safe for all Alteans once again, and now it _was_ safe.

“There’s someone I’ve wanted you to meet for a long time now,” he’d told her once she’d regained her composure. “My healer. She’s the one who helped me after that first fight with Zarkon when I went with the Blade.”

“Yes,” she said resolutely, eyes determined. “I want to meet her this instant. I want to meet the person who was able to help you so dearly.”

He led her to a small home at the center of the village, a place of revered status though it boasted little grandeur. It was warm and simple, filled with soft things well-made, but he knew the smell of the tea she favored instantly. She was laying in her bed, very old, very tired, but she smiled brightly when she saw him, and he went to her instantly.

“My dear, I heard you were coming,” Geeva said. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come to greet you myself. These old bones, though you’ll never know.”

“Geeva,” he’d said tenderly, holding her hand between his own. They were weathered and paper-thin but warm and familiar, as close to family as anyone had ever truly come in his life. “There’s someone I brought with me. Someone I want you to meet.”

“Hello,” Allura said politely as she moved closer, her eyes gentle. “My name is—”

“Princess Allura,” Geeva said. “My dear prince could not stop talking about you while we were on The Way. Deca-phoebs and deca-phoebs, he’d keep talking about you. It’s nice to finally meet you in person, dear. Please, move closer so I can take a look at you.”

‘Deca-phoebs?’ Allura mouthed to him as she did as she was asked, and he only shrugged and smiled, watching as Geeva studied the princess.

“You’ve such a kind aura, and a healer too! No wonder he likes you so much.”

“Geeva,” he said, embarrassed but Allura hardly noticed. She’d taken Geeva’s hands in hers.

“I’m not the healer you are, not nearly so. You helped him speak again. Helped him through so much trauma and did it so well that when I next saw him I did not believe it. You are a miracle worker, and I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done. So many people are to thank for the freedom and peace that we’ve helped bring to the universe, but I want to thank you personally. It’s because of you that Lotor remembered who he was and came back to help free the universe. That he came back to me.” Allura squeezed Geeva’s hand so tenderly. Her eyes misted. “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome. It was my honor and my pleasure,” Geeva said. “Please take good care of him. He may appear strong and capable, but within he is a most tender soul.”

“I know it,” Allura said with a smile as more tears slid down her cheeks. “I know.”

Lotor didn’t necessarily agree, but he found he could not say anything to counter them either.

Not long after that, plans were made to move the colony to another planet, to properly colonize a world out of hiding and to reintegrate them back into the universe. There were so few of them, they were practically an endangered species, but it did not matter. With Allura and Coran to lead them, Alteans spread far and wide, often with a formerly Blade of Marmora guard around to ensure their safety. They were welcomed with opened arms, another gift that came with the new age.

The Paladins spent time on their home-world, but it wasn’t long before they found their ways back to the greater universe, which was only natural in Pidge and Hunk’s case. Pidge set about helping the Olkari when their planet was destroyed by a Weblum, and worked closely with them and Altean engineers to bring about new tech to help with quintessence distribution and general amazement. Hunk became a brilliant chef, uniting contending groups with his food and his elite team of chefs he’d somehow managed to cultivate in the time it took them to overthrow Zarkon and Haggar. Lance surprised them all by becoming a world delegate along with Shiro, who had elected to spend most of his time back on Earth with a lover who’d waited for him. He seemed happy, after everything that had happened to him. Lotor certainly understood the feeling.

It wasn’t strange to see a Paladin in the Castle of Lions passing through on some new mission, great symbols of peace. His own team did much the same with the Sincline ships which had also achieved a level of notoriety which he had not expected. They were of course primarily used to collect quintessence, but it wasn’t unheard of to see a Sincline and a Lion moving through space in tandem.

Honerva had been a point of contention amongst the Coalition once it became known that she was still alive and being held captive instead of punished or killed. Many called for her head. He would not give it. She’d been punished enough, and given the way she had quickly declined, to do more to the old woman would truly have been an act of monstrosity.

After leaving the quintessence field, most days she stayed in her cell quietly. She ate. She slept. But she did not speak, and when she did it was to provide information they requested for the continuing skirmishes. Occasionally she would ask for him, but it was some time before he was able to force himself to visit. He did not want to, would have been happy never to see her again, but there was still some unfinished business. He refused to think of it as wanting something after ten thousand deca-phoebs of torment, but he knew what it was like to be used, and he knew that she did not have long to live now that her ties with quintessence had been relegated down to what a normal person in the universe might have. She’d aged rapidly in the phoebs since he’d last seen her, looking as old as Geeva with little effort. She did not get out of bed anymore, she was too weak, and he trusted Narti’s reports when she gave them.

Still, he sat beside her one evening, and for a long time they did not speak. He wasn’t sure why he’d chosen to do this. He could envision his life without this little thing, and he believed he could be happy with that. But perhaps it was his time in The Way and his need to confront all of his fears and problems because he was here to confront this one final thing.

“It would have been different, wouldn’t it have been?” he finally asked quietly.

“It would have been so different, my son,” she told him just as quietly. “I’m so sorry I let my own hubris and greed take that from you.”

He’d nodded, and they’d sat there together in the silence for a time before he’d left. It hadn’t been long after that that she’d passed in the middle of the night, her body too aged and too weak to carry on. When he’d heard he’d felt very little except a small zephyr of relief for her. After all this, he was at least relieved that her suffering was over.

His relationship with Allura, however, grew steadily. Certainly, over their long courtship they’d had their share of fights and arguments. Usually it was over some small difference in view or philosophy that would become heated without them realizing it, and soon they’d be on the verge of shouting before they’d look at each other, realize what they were doing, and laugh before working it out. They’d endured so much together as it was that these small squabbles were strange joys in their own ways. Tensions of a time of peace rather than desperations in a time of war. Several times they were forced to separate simply because the division of labor as joint rulers required her to be with her people and he with his. It was not always easy, but they resolutely made it work with frequent communications, and as many secret trysts as they could manage.

She welcomed him into her life, and he slowly began telling her the bits of him that had taken him so long to share with Geeva. Those admissions hadn’t been easy, least of all his time as the witch’s slave, and revealing his Number had been the hardest of all. Although her eyes had watered and her lip had trembled, she’d said nothing and instead held him tightly against her as if she might protect him from his past. She couldn’t, of course, but it was nice to have someone so fiercely protective of him like this.

He loved her more than he could ever say.

And that was why after she’d met Geeva, he’d asked her to marry him. They would further strengthen the alliance between their people, but that was the lowest reason on his list.

“I can’t imagine anyone except you,” he admitted that night as they’d walked through the Altean colony together. “I love you. I want you by my side, ruling with me. Or myself by your side ruling with you, whichever you like. I only wish to be with you.”

She’d kissed him then. Kissed him silent. Kissed him until they’d found their way to their temporary residence, and then practically refused to let him breathe as they made passionate love well into the night. Although he could suspect what her answer was based on her actions, he’d been the happiest person in existence when, as they lay curled together and calmed from their entanglement, she finally told him, “Yes.”

Their engagement lasted several deca-phoebs, but when the wedding came, the Colonists were safe and free, the universe was stable and at ease, the fighting had all but ceased and every one of their friends, family, and close relationships had come for the large, public wedding, and then the smaller, private affair afterward. They were King and Queen now of both the Galra and Alteans and they’d located the Castle of Lions, their castle and home, to a newly revealed Oriande. Now that the threat was over and the Alteans were eager to regain what they’d lost, both he and Allura had thought it time to share what they had found and make it the center of their new kingdom. All peoples from across the universe were welcome. They had so much to offer, so much to give, and they were happy to ensure it was given freely.

It hadn’t been long before Allura told him she was pregnant. He’d been visiting Geeva in her rooms within the castle when Allura had announced the news. He’d stared dumbly as the old Altean all but crowed congratulations in time with Coran.

“And I know it’s so soon,” Allura had said. “But if it’s a girl, I would like to name her after you, Geeva, with your blessing.”

Lotor’s throat had squeezed shut as he’d forced himself to blink away tears he hadn’t expected to ever shed. Geeva was similarly moved and could only nod and whisper, “I would be honored.”

And soon she was born, their little Geeva, their joy and older Geeva’s quiet pride.

And this was his life. A world filled with peace and prosperity. It wasn’t perfect, there were still some skirmishes. There was still violence and crime in the universe, and he was still haunted by his past when he’d been Dumah, but it was nothing like what it had once been. After the long night that had been the Galra Empire, the universe seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as everything settled on the glowing horizon he and Allura, the Voltron Paladins, the Blade, the Coalition, what everyone together had helped create. A new era was well on its way, and as he stood with Allura and their beautiful daughter, he couldn’t wait to see what this new time would bring.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch up with me on [my tumblr](https://oka-writes.tumblr.com/) to see what else I'm up to :]


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